


The Reanimator of Rosemerrow

by Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Breast Fucking, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Geralt is a lying liar, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Ghosts, Hand Jobs, Horror, Immortal Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Marking, Medium Jaskier | Dandelion, Monsters, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Paranormal, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pretending to be a carpenter, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Riding, Rimming, Soul Bond, Titfuck, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26912371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/pseuds/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness
Summary: "This inn has an interesting reputation. Its owners are usually quick to resale it.""Because of her decaying state? She just needs some remodel, soon she'll be back up and about." He stepped sideway to pat the half-destroyed wall and take a deep breath, away from Geralt's unfair attractiveness."Partially, but there's also been paranormal rumours. Apparitions, misplaced objects, footsteps.""And you believe in them? I always assumed you were the skeptical cartesian type."Geralt wasn't facing him, but he heard him chuckle darkly. "There are things you can't escape from.""Indeed," Jaskier breathed out, thinking of what'd he seen when he was alone in the inn, the heavy presences and the few cases of being touched by a being that he had the unfortunate ability to see. "I'm, uh, familiar with unusual events."--In 1819, Jaskier accidentally buys an old abandoned inn in the middle of nowhere, England. Haunted, as if this mountain of dust and debris wasn't already enough of a problem. At least he has a handsome carpenter to help him renovate it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 127
Kudos: 444
Collections: Geraskier Kink Bingo, Sordid Saovine - The Witcher Halloween Event





	1. Somebody's Watching Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is my latest horror baby. I'm hoping to publish it completely by Halloween. 

Jaskier stared at the building, the illustration in his hand, then dubiously at the building again. He frowned. Something was very wrong.

When he bought the inn with the very same money his parents had threatened to cut from him, he'd seen it as the perfect investment to show them he was a capable adult able to be independent and responsible with his decisions. Gone was the fleeting libertine behaviour with its catastrophic consequences of running away from vengeful spouses and losing his best clothing in favour of being stuck outside and naked but very much still alive. Gone was his persona of artist vagabond, just as untrustworthy in their eyes.

Now he was the owner of a respectable establishment in the small town of Rosemerrow, a little way from Southampton. It would make him responsible enough for his parents to stop breathing down his neck in the form of letters filled with double-entendres about his lack of marital commitment and life goals. He would stop being the main subject of gossips at those family meetings he had the horror of being forced to attend before fleeing their home to explore a world that he wasn’t sure wanted him either.

The ad advertised an elegant inn first built in the 14th century with two and three storeys, walls of timber framework and rendered brickwork, tiled and slated roofs, decorated with an intricate English garden designed by the best gardener this side of Hampshire and maintained on a daily basis.

This had been too good to be true. The dreading feeling of shame at being wronged was slowly but surely filling Jaskier as he continued to stare at the dilapidated inn he had recently acquired. This couldn't be. Certainly Renfri's contact wouldn't have wronged him so… Then again, she barely knew the man herself.

The _White Bear_ inn-sign pitifully swayed in the light breeze.

Fortunately the way to the mailbox was more or less tamed, minus wild herbs growing in between the large rock slabs. He fetched the envelope inside that contained the inn's main key. A letter accompanied it. Perhaps an apology and half his money in refund? Jaskier could only hope, but he doubted the man who wronged him had any respect for people other than himself. He retrieved the heavy key and shoved the envelope in the inside pocket of his jacket to deal with later.

He walked up the few wobbly steps and pushed the key in the rusty door's keyhole. The mechanism was still functioning, at least. The door opened with a heavy grinding noise that made him cringe in discomfort. He gave the quiet afternoon street a last look and entered.

The front lobby was dimly illuminated by the grand boarded windows covered in grime, volatile dust lazily flying in the sunrays. The ceiling was quite high and gave the illusion that the lobby was bigger than it was, especially as bare as it was right now. Jaskier sneezed. He left the door ajar to ventilate, left his luggage close by and explored the front office. It once had been fancy, the wood elaborately carved, but now he could see the varnish had rubbed off, some spots discolored and coming off when he touched it. Rotten.

The posts flanking the hallway connected to the lobby were beautifully crafted at least and finely detailed. Jaskier suspected they were either made of oak or cedar sd they didn't look damaged by time at all. The office desk probably had been a newer addition by someone who didn't care as much for the building as the initial owner. He hoped the frame of the house had been built with the same wood, otherwise he'd have a big moulding problem. He wasn't very knowledgeable in house building but once had an architect as a lover. He taught him some basics, when they weren't having amazing sex.

As he explored the rest of the inn, he found the rooms in the same sorry state. The exposed framework was charming, if not for the cobwebs decorating every corner of the ceiling. The few remaining pieces of furniture had been protected by the passage of time with a sheet thrown over.

The ground floor consisted of common areas for the guests: a dining room with a long bar counter and old dusty bottles containing liquids Jaskier would certainly come back to examine later on and a drawing room lacking all sitting furniture but with a heavy-looking piano standing in the corner. The employee section was a janitor closet equipped with some expired cleaning tools, a kitchen and a laundry room. A door in the kitchen gave way to the inner yard.

He returned to the staircase near the front entrance and slowly made his way up. Discomfiture was a pale word to describe what he currently was feeling. He didn't dare imagine what the first floor looked like. He had the fortunate idea to keep his hand on the rail, for his foot went through one of the treads and he would've broken his ankle if not for his grip holding him up. He cussed under his breath and pressed his forehead on the cold wooden rail, heart pounding and a lump forming in his throat. He wouldn't cry. He was too stubborn.

He freed himself by slipping his foot out of his shoe, then carefully bent to retrieve it as well. A cold wind slipped up the stairs and made him shiver, which he attributed to the front door that was still opened. He waited to reach the landing to put back his shoe on despite the dust now clinging to his sock.

The mothball smelling linen closet in the hall was empty save for a thick woolen blanket. At least he was assured it wasn't infested. The first floor was three sizable guest rooms and another closet with cleaning supplies and storage space. The mattresses were missing from the four-poster bed frames but there was enough sheets laying around that he could easily make a makeshift version if need be. There was also a heavy chest, a table with chairs and a private bathroom.

Last but not least, he checked the attic connected by a trapdoor at the end of the hall. He couldn't see much, but the framework was exposed here as well, the collared rafters charming him. Perhaps Jaskier could make it his room, after some improvements.

With that in mind, he made his way back to the ground floor to the kitchen to see the state of the oven and plumbing. The oven was gas powered and, as he suspected, the gas had been turned off. A large open wall hearth stood in the middle of the kitchen, remnant of older times, with dry firewood neatly stacked to the side. The refrigerator smelled weird, probably from not being used for a long time, and he closed it again with a grimace. Just what he needed, some rotten smell to accompany the mountain of dust and debris he naively bought.

He stared at the inner yard through the cracks between the boards on the kitchen door. He would need to remove them from outside to access it, but that problem was low on his evergrowing list of tasks. He was overwhelmed by how much he'd have to do to make this place operable again, and for a moment he considered giving up and getting rid of it, mindless of his own reputation and the degrading remarks his parents would pour on him.

He remembered the letter of the previous owner, still in his pocket. He unfolded it and scoffed at what he read. A backhanded apology claiming there was no other way to sell the property than to lie, and that he was sure that "a fine young man such as yourself" would come up with more projects about the place than him.

Jaskier would have a few things to say to the man if he was in front of him, notably how this fine young man had enough contacts to make sure he never scammed anyone ever again. He knew it was his fault for being so naïve as to believe people's words and not demanding to see proofs beforehand. He should've visited before purchasing, but he had been so eager to get away and prove himself. All he'd proven was what a fool he was.

He angrily grabbed a lantern that had some fuel left in it and lit it before adventuring in the basement to start the furnace and activate the water pump. The stairs were stable, fortunately, but he got a full face of cobweb that he sputtered from his mouth and shook from his hair. He wasn't particularly fond of having dead bugs stuck to him.

There was a cellar and a cold room for storage down there, with a backdoor allowing access to the delivery people and employees. At least, Jaskier assumed so as he stared at the empty crates and the few dusty wine bottles remaining in the racks. He examined the furnace and struggled to turn the valve with one hand. He had to put the lantern down and use both hands, hurting his palms on the rusty iron. It finally turned, but nothing happened. The pressure gauge didn't move.

He had no clue what could be wrong with it. Perhaps there was no fuel, but Jaskier didn't want to check and actually break the machine in the process. So, no cooking until he had someone check it out. He turned to the water pump and at least had no problem turning that one on. He would have a hot shower, as soon as he cleaned the stall in the room of his choosing.

His stomach rumbled, reminded him of how hungry he was. He deemed this was enough for right now, he'd earned a lunch break even though it was the middle of the afternoon. He extinguished the lantern once he was back on the ground floor, dusted himself off and went off in search of somewhere to eat. He kicked the "sold" sign that was right outside, feeling some petty satisfaction at the gesture.

The inn was on one of the main streets of Rosemerrow, well maintained with clean pavements and greeneries brightening the area. It was mostly shops and warehouses, including a few he noted to visit later. It was the first time he was settling down somewhere, he was unsure of the procedure. Was he supposed to introduce himself, let them know he was the owner of the only sorry-looking building in town? His ego probably couldn't take it today, but he would force himself to it once the façade didn't look like it was about to fall off.

He walked a few minutes and stumbled upon a charming pub with a few patrons inside. They were wearing more somber clothing than he was, but then again, almost everyone did. He'd chosen a bright blue suit for his moving day, the collar of his chemise already soaked with sweat from venturing in the inn and his short walk. This was a hot July day, the sun scorching against the nape of his neck until he took refuge in the pub. This was England and sunny days were to be cherished.

He breathed better in the relative relief of the pub, the door already opened for the light breeze to circulate. He smiled at a middle-aged couple and sat down at the counter, wishing he had left his jacket back at the inn.

"Welcome. What will it be?" The barkeep was a man with greying temples and a face marked by the sun and possibly alcoholism, his nose and cheeks blotched with red. It made him look amicable, as his smile did. Jaskier scanned the menu on the chalkboard and decided on the house speciality and beer. He drummed his fingers as he waited and read the newspapers that someone had left there. This city seemed to be peaceful and quiet, judging by the lack of sensational news. It was a drastic change from London where he'd spent most of the last years. He doubted he'd get bored in the following months either way.

The food was good as well, he decided once he breathed down half of his meal. He'd gotten free mashed potatoes as a side dish and it was the perfect texture.

"You're not from around, are you?" The barkeeper asked him. Oliver, his name was, Jaskier learnt along some of his story. He'd inherited this pub from his father and had been running it for a few decades already. That meant he ought to know a lot of people here.

"Is it that obvious?" Jaskier chuckled. "I bought the White Bear inn nearby. The advertisement lied about a few things."

"Oh. You're the sorry lad who has to deal with that place now." The way he said it was odd. Oliver realised it as well, for he brightened up. "You deserve another beer then. On the house."

"Thank you. Would you by chance know any decent carpenter that could help me with a few things?" Notably most of the inn, but Jaskier didn't mention that. He was already discouraged as it was. "And perhaps a mechanic, for the furnace?"

"I can ask around for you."

"That'd be lovely. Consider me already a regular patron, dear man."

Afterwards he took his time to return to the inn, walking around to explore his surroundings. There was a clothing shop he was very tempted to enter but didn't even have a closet or a dresser to store his clothes in yet. He small talked with a pretty apothecary who was having some fresh air after working in fumes for so long. Her name was Triss and she'd had her business for about a year. It was a relief he wasn't alone being a newcomer.

"I might need your help if I continue to inhale so much dust and mould."

"Make sure to open the windows and let in the sun. I confess that inn looks dreadful, but with you I'm starting to have hopes of seeing an improvement in the neighbourhood."

"Flatteries will get you everywhere," he winked at her. As he continued his merry way, he came across a woman completely dressed in black despite the weather, a large parasol hiding most of her face except her full lips and almost smashing Jaskier in the face as she strolled by without a care for him. He scoffed at her retreating back. Not everyone was friendly here.

He finally arrived back at the inn, _his_ inn, still as ugly as before. He walked up the stairs, happy they still hadn't crumbled under his weight, and stopped as a man emerged from the side coach entry leading to the inner yard. He was on foot and was coming towards the inn, and he seemed as surprised to see Jaskier there.

"Who are you?" Jaskier asked, politely but still on his guard. Who knew if the previous owner hadn't sent one of his watchdogs to make sure Jaskier wouldn't cause problems.

The man approached the stairs but remained at the bottom of them, keeping his distance. Jaskier turned to face him fully, observing him for a second. He was wearing simple commoner clothing, a shirt with long puffy sleeves that hugged his broad shoulders and black fall front trousers, the cotton barely containing his thick thighs, completed by knee high weathered leather boots. Black dye wasn't cheap to come by however, which ticked the question: who was this man and what business did he have at his inn?

"I could ask you the same question." The audacity of that man. Did he think his pretty face would get him anywhere? Because it could, but not with that attitude.

"Mphm. I'm the owner of this place, you know, considering I have the key to this door in my hand." He waved said-hand.

The man eyed it, his expression remaining neutral. "I'm Geralt of Rivia," he finally said, as if he expected Jaskier to know who he was.

"Oh. Are you the carpenter Oliver said he would look for? That was quite fast, dare I say. I knew this town was small, but not that small." Jaskier smiled at Geralt who slowly blinked.

"If I'm—? Um, yeah." He cleared his throat. "I'm the... carpenter."

"Perfect. You sir are a lifesaver. Why don't I show you around and we can list the most pressing problems. Work won't be lacking, I'm sure. My name is Jaskier, by the way." They shook hands. Geralt's was big and roughened by manual work.

Geralt nodded and so they went inside. The built man followed him around in silence as they went room by room and Jaskier wrote down what needed to be fixed. They were still on the ground floor that the list already used a full page. Geralt suggested a few things, poking wood with a long knife he retrieved from somewhere on his person and knocking on walls to test their solidity, or so Jaskier assumed. It was in the basement he became more active, striding in the darkness without waiting for Jaskier.

The latter remained on the last step of the stairs for a beat longer, surprised at how swift the large carpenter had moved, and finally ventured forward, following in his quick footsteps. He had a bad feeling growing in his chest, like something wasn't right and he was about to see... A shiver ran down his spine as goosebumps ran on the arm holding up the lantern.

"Geralt?" He called out, oddly relieved when he emerged in the light, his white hair almost glowing.

"I'm sorry, thought I heard a mouse."

"Oh no, don't tell me I'm dealing with an infestation."

"It wasn't a mouse." He looked over his shoulder and Jaskier frowned.

"What was it then?"

"Probably the building working. Nothing to worry about."

And Jaskier, upon hearing that, worried. He didn't mention it as they continued, but he made sure to lock the door of the basement behind them. They ended up on the first floor where some broken windows had caused water damage to the floor.

"I didn't notice any damage to the ceiling underneath, but I wouldn't want the floor to suddenly sink."

"I'll have to bring my equipment to verify. The wood is soft here though, so prepare for the worst."

Jaskier sighed and wrote it down. This was going to cost a fortune at this rate. He ought to hire an accountant to set up a budget. "Good thing I'd like to make my room in the attic. I didn't notice any damage up there."

They went up and it earned Geralt's hum of approval. "It's also the safest place here."

"Why, is Rosemerrow known for home robberies?"

"Not particularly. It's a formality." Again with the cryptic words. This carpenter was weird, and honestly Jaskier would've refused his services if it wasn't for his good looks. A weird man with a beautiful ass. His hair looked very soft too, much longer than what was trendy, but he didn't seem particularly inclined to follow the latest fashion. It suited him.

"Mm, right. Well, this window is facing East, so it's perfect. I want to remove the planks tomorrow, have a bit of sun in here."

"I'll bring my tools then and the necessary for the furnace."

"Wonderful, you're telling me I won't need a mechanic?"

Geralt's face softened for the first time as he let out a chuckle. "It's simply out of coal. I'll bring a bag of it."

"Oh. Again, godsent. I felt utterly lost, but now that you're here, I have hope. Now, what are your rates, dear man?"

Geralt paused, almost a shy look passing on his lovely face. Jaskier understood not everyone felt comfortable talking about money. "I'll think about it. I'm more familiar with smaller, shorter contracts."

"Of course."

After he left, Jaskier stared at the empty hall, biting on his bottom lip. It was late afternoon, the sun would set in an hour or two, which left him just enough daylight to clean one of the bedrooms, the one furthest from the stairs. He would sleep in it for the time being, he needed some familiarity in this new strange world. He was used to traveling and never settling down, going from bed to bed while he sang and danced and pretended to be sated with this free-spirited lifestyle.

Deep down, he always knew he needed more, and despite the wobbly start of this new adventure, he hoped being here would be it.

With that in mind, he went to the lobby to retrieve his suitcase. He wanted to put away his few belongings before going out for supper, thank Oliver for his help. Only he couldn't find it. He was sure he'd left it by the front office, but it wasn't there. There was no way Geralt could've stolen it, it had been there when they left the area and they'd been together all along until he saw him to the door. Had someone snuck in and neither of them had heard it? The door had been locked from the inside because, again, he was used to living in London.

He swept the ground floor for it, to little success. He was distracted for a few minutes by the piano, that thing was an Erard beauty. He'd learnt to play many instruments and could play this one once he tuned it. The few notes he played eerily echoed in the empty room, and he replaced the fallboard with a thump. He went to the stairs and made sure to dodge the hole… that was covered by one of his chemises? He leaned over while holding to the rail to fetch it, frowning down at it. It seemed intact, but why was this here?

All of his things were scattered in the hall and three rooms, he discovered as fright set in his chest. Whoever had done this wasn't human, he just knew it. Too many similar experiences in the past.

"I know what you're doing," he called out in the hall. He started picking up his things and putting them back in his luggage. "We'll have to learn to be with each other."

He didn't get a reply, but he thought he heard children's laughter coming from the ground floor.

He had a weird dream that night. He was in the lobby, but it was beautifully decorated, back in its full glory. The rugged floor didn't make a sound as he slowly padded in the long hall. A woman was tending the front desk, her long loose hair hiding her face as she wrote something in the registry book, the quill scratching the paper.

"Excuse me," he said, but she didn't look up. He noticed he had no legs, oddly enough. How could he walk and feel the rug underneath his bare feet without any legs? As he asked himself that, his gaze wandered to the book, and more particularly at the bright red ink the woman was using. Blood.

She was writing something important, Jaskier realised. Not words, but… He tried to step closer to have a better look, but suddenly he couldn't budge. He leaned forward and gripped the counter to pull himself, to no avail. He could feel gazes on him, fear escalating in him. There was no one else in the hall save for the woman and him.

A cold, wet hand grabbed his wrist as the woman finally acknowledged him, her decaying face staring back at him. Her eye sockets were nothing but darkness, tar sliding down her hollow cheeks.

"You shouldn't be here," voices whispered from everywhere at once, and he woke up with a start, heart pounding. It was almost pitch black in the room but for the dying candle on the bedside table, the flame flickering. It started to rain, hitting his window through the wooden planks in a soothing manner. Something flickered from the shadows, growing thicker until it detached itself and floated closer. It didn't have legs.

Jaskier remained frozen in his bed as he stared at the tall figure hovering at the end, staring down at him.

_Get out, get out. I don't want you here._ "Get out," he stammered through his fright. "You're not welcome in my home."

In his mind, he pushed the creature away and built protective walls around himself, like he'd done so many times. The shadow moved closer, taking more space. Jaskier stood his ground and looked at where a head should've been. "Get out," he repeated, firmly this time.

Something cold touched his cheek and before he could put his hand on the spot, it was gone along with the ghost. The candle flickered one last time and died, leaving him in total darkness. With trembling fingers, he fumbled around to light the lantern he had the good idea to put there and forced his quivering legs to move so he could retrieve a new candle. He lit it and brought out his diary, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep for a while again.

The next morning, he made himself a strong coffee on the hearth in the kitchen, which wasn't the ideal place to put a kettle, but he had managed with worse. The bitter hot beverage did a marvelous job at waking him up.

He'd managed a few more hours of sleep after the encounter. He was fairly sure this had been the ghosts of this inn attempting to scare him away. Certainly weird, he'd deal with it if it came to it. He hadn't seen any of them the previous day, but it was just a matter of time.

He knew he had a long day ahead of him. A long year was more like it, he thought with a sigh. He went to the farm market to buy produce and basic food, baffled at the low prices. Never in London he could've gotten so much for so little. He talked to more locals, introduced himself and dismissed their worries over him taking care of such a decayed inn all on his own. He already had help, he assured them.

He returned to the White Bear with a lighter step and made himself a light meal to start on today's tasks: remove the planks from the windows and properly board up the few broken ones on the first floor. He needed to change outfit halfway through because the rain started again, how typical. He found a ladder tall enough to reach the first floor, but it was hard to see with rain constantly falling in his eyes. He focused on the broken windows and quickly secured them with planks before returning inside and using some of the sheets thrown on the furniture to soak the water on the floor, knowing it was already a lost cause anyway.

His light coat was completely soaked through and he was freezing, the furnace still not functioning. He fed the fire in the kitchen to dry his coat and warm himself up. Geralt arrived while he was making tea, the rain not bothering him in the slightest.

"Great weather to start this project, don't you think?"

"Quite," Geralt replied, deadpan. His damp hair was starting to curl, making him look younger than those eyes portrayed.

Jaskier was unsure on which foot to dance with him, and he put said-foot in his mouth a few times that day, but although Geralt was gruff, he never voiced any displeasure. He filled the furnace with coal and the temperature inside the inn slowly heated up. Unexpected drafts of cold air had goosebumps raise across Jaskier's arms as he ventured all over the inn, but he stubbornly excused them on the bad insulation.

Stupid ghosts.

The days started to blend together once the novelty of it all started to wean off and he focused on restoring the inn. He met with an accountant to set up a budget, material would constantly be ordered and he grew very familiar with the vendors and the vocabulary and the tools and muscles aches and Himalayan salt.

Working with Geralt was interesting, to say the least. Jaskier found himself growing fond of him even if the carpenter didn't talk much at all, let alone about himself. Instead Jaskier discovered him through his actions.

Every day except Sundays, he would appear at the door at 9 o'clock on the dot, wearing the same dark clothes. When a garment would be too damaged to wear, like that one time he ripped his shirt on a loose nail (a truly tragic event for Jaskier's eyes), he'd simply swap out for a new identical one. Jaskier was interested in seeing his wardrobe… among other furniture in his bedroom.

Jaskier knew how he preferred his coffee and tea, how to interpret most of his monosyllabic responses, how he looked exhausted some mornings as if he hadn't slept all night but wouldn't take a day off despite Jaskier's insistence. He knew that his actions often contradicted his words, claiming he was doing it for the money when the first thing he'd insisted on repairing was the loose kitchen door leading to the inner yard, then preparing the attic to transform it into his bedroom. For his protection, he'd said.

Jaskier also noticed he was rubbish at a lot of the tasks he was supposed to be a professional at. A blind person would've noticed. It was very bizarre. Jaskier would at times stumble on him struggling and cursing under his breath, a quiet rough _fuck_ that never failed to titillate his interest. One time he caught him breaking a heavy metal tool cleanly in half, then claiming it was rusty and he had meant to replace it anyway. When Jaskier investigated, the tool had been brand new, no rust on it to cause the break.

"Did you grow up in Rosemerrow?" He asked him an afternoon that they were fixing the roof, one of his wrists completely covered in tar after a glove incident. Fortunately he had started to wear more casual outfits to work after too many similar events, and this shirt already had a hole in it. He was mostly worried that the tar was stuck to his arm hair. It wouldn't be a pleasant experience to remove.

Jaskier had discovered Geralt usually answered to direct questions, on the opposite of remaining silent and not sharing back whenever Jaskier told him anecdotes. "No," he mumbled, holding a nail between his teeth.

Jaskier waited for him to lay down the plank and free his mouth. "I traveled through Europe for a time but haven't quite placed your accent yet. Where are you from?"

"Poland. I've lived here for a long time though."

"Really? My family is also from there. That's why my parents named me Julian, to keep the culture and everything."

"Isn't your name Jaskier?"

Jaskier chuckled. "What I renamed myself, which is also Polish. Great observation skills." He gave him a side glance to signify he was jesting. Geralt was already looking at him, his amber eyes intense. "Why did you decide to settle here?" Jaskier changed the subject before Geralt could ask why him he didn't want to keep his first name.

"Job opportunity."

"Oh." Wasn't his work based on contracts, however? Perhaps the contract had been long enough to decide it was best to live here. "Well I'm glad you did. Who else could be so skilled at," he gestured at him, " _carpenting_ than you around here?"

At that, Geralt missed the nail and hammered his thumb. Jaskier gasped and insisted on putting his finger in water to soothe the pain, despite Geralt's protest. The poor lad must've been in shock, he'd barely reacted. He let Jaskier lead him to the kitchen and put his hand in the bowl Jaskier poured water in. Afterwards Jaskier took his wrist and gently probed the hurt digit. It didn't appear swollen, which excluded any serious condition.

"Almost looks like nothing happened," he concluded. He couldn't help but brush his fingers over the rest of Geralt's hand, much broader than his own, callouses marking his palm. He let go once he caught himself lingering, turning his back to Geralt observing him in silence. He had a habit of doing that sometimes, whether or not Jaskier noticed, and it slightly unnerved him. He didn't know what he was searching for.

"Well, I'm peckish. How about some tea and toast?" Jaskier exclaimed, already reaching for the bread, then realised he had yet to remove his second glove.

"You should clean up first." Geralt seemed to notice the tar for the first time, frowning at it like it personally offended him.

"Mphm. I suppose." It had actually started to slightly burn, now that he was focusing on it. He yanked his glove off and put his wrist under running water, the bowl Geralt used too small for that. He tried scrubbing it off but quickly stopped as it painfully pulled on his skin and hairs.

"Give it here." Geralt poured some cooking oil and gently massaged the tar with it.

"You're the one injured," he weakly protested.

"This is more serious."

It was fortunate it wasn't a bigger area, Jaskier already felt ready to combust by the time the carpenter finished. My, was he this starved for touch and attention that his employee caused such effect on him? A very attractive and mysterious employee, but still. He needed to keep it better together.

Once they finished the attic and the first floor, they tackled the ground floor. They started ripping the old tapestry off in the drawing room. Jaskier wanted wainscoting instead to freshen up the place, paint the walls a light shade to brighten it up. Geralt had told him a few times that he didn't need his help, that he was okay doing it on his own. Seeing his huge muscles bulge under the strain of moving wooden boards around was only one of the reasons Jaskier said otherwise. Geralt was very bad at measuring things, much less at aligning the panels evenly.

It was more work that Jaskier had imagined, a recurring thought since the beginning, and after a few hours he was covered in sweat and wood dust. Geralt had also worked up a sweat, somehow looking even more attractive that way, if that was possible. They took a break to drink some water and have a breather. Jaskier had recently acquired a musical box from Switzerland and it was softly playing in the background, almost making it peaceful. Almost.

Jaskier could feel someone watch them. A ghost had been creeping in and out of sight all day, making Jaskier cranky and irritated. Obviously they wanted his attention, but for what reason, he didn't know. Some of the ghosts had showed their displeasure at the sudden changes, moving objects around and putting them at obnoxious places where there was no way it could've been either Geralt or Jaskier leaving them there. Jaskier was actually surprised Geralt hadn't commented on it, especially that one time they found his toolbox in one of the guest beds.

"I've noticed you keep looking at that corner. Is there something wrong with the panel?"

There wasn't, only a persistent dead man trying to pry it out. His form was almost invisible except for his head and arms, which Jaskier attributed to him using most of his energy to interact with objects. Jaskier shook his head. It would be fine, he could ignore him. Only the ghost started messing up with the music box for at least an hour, moving the governor again and again when Jaskier would adjust it back.

"If I change the cylinder will you stop it?" He angrily whispered at him, already swiping the one on the box for another one. The ghost frowned and gestured around to show his distress. Some of them weren't able to talk, which Jaskier was thankful for at times. "It's for the best. I'm not trying to destroy the inn, I want to make it beautiful once again."

"Who are you talking to?"

Jaskier startled. Geralt was holding another panel, closer to him than he expected.

"No one. I'm just trying to find the proper wording for this letter I'm writing to my parents."

Geralt hummed, but the kind of hum he made when they were arguing about the best material to use and he wasn't convinced but was too polite or fed up to contradict him.

Jaskier had been seeing his ghosts all his life. As a child, he didn't realise he wasn't meant to see his grandparents until his father slapped him for claiming they were at the dinner table with them. They were dead, his father had screamed at him through his mother's sobs, and Julian better stop inventing stories. It wasn't until he ventured away in the middle of a lesson - his teacher always pretended he wasn't taking a nap while Julian was reading, which had earned the boy some reprimand for "lying some more" - into a forbidden wing of the Lettenhove castle that he understood why his parents had been so upset. The halls were still blackened with soot from the flames that had almost enwrapped the whole castle, had it not been for the quick thinking of his grandmother. Witch, they'd whispered behind her back. So much for saving their lives.

Little him had found her room on a whim and shamelessly read her diary. She had been unhappy, that much was clear. She wasn’t fully human either, one of her own parents being a word Jaskier didn't know at the time. He knew better than to ask his parents, even at that age, and instead found the definition in the castle's library. 

It only was a small portion of his inheritance, but enough to make him different.

The ghosts at the inn quickly realised Jaskier could see them. Most of them weren't malicious in nature and didn't wish him any harm, momentarily curious of him before leaving him alone. Some others, however, didn't take well to his presence.

He could sense it in the dark corners of the main hall at night when he walked downstairs for a light meal, lingering in the doorways and in his reflection, everpresent. He didn't feel it much during daytime, when Geralt was with him and focused as he was on the daily tasks, but at night when he was writing his diary or plucking his dearest lute for song inspiration, he sensed this overwhelming feeling of being unwelcome at the back of his mind, of something wishing he wasn't here. Jaskier had felt the same in the presence of his parents, but the White Bear was his home now, and he wasn't about to give it up.

He had the piano cleaned and had tuned it himself, glad that it had suffered no time damage, and he took to play in the evenings, when people had settled down and the quiet reigned outside. The notes echoed in the empty room, vibrated through him as his fingers remembered tunes of their own accord. He would sing for himself, for the lost souls trapped here. Sometimes he would make up the lyrics, keeping some and writing them down, or he would sing some of his own compositions, the ones he rarely played in public for they were slow and melodramatic, nothing that would earn him money in well-watered establishments.

One night, about a month after he settled in, someone appeared while he was playing. He was humming a new song, unsure about one of the lines, and as he gazed up, he saw her. She was dancing in the middle of the room, her long white dress trailing behind her. She was caught in a dance only she knew the rhythm of. Jaskier's instincts kept him playing the piano, only missing a few notes, and he stared as she spun and spun.

He didn't recognise the style of the dance, but it didn't matter. She was beautiful. Jaskier didn't think she was doing it for him, but instead thoroughly enjoyed dancing. He hoped his music brought her joy. She continued for a few minutes and disappeared just as silently. Even when he continued playing, fingers trembling, she didn't come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaptainMarianna).


	2. Don’t fear the Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you heard stories about this inn, Geralt?"  
> Geralt stumbled on his toolbox and almost fell over, an unusual act of gracelessness coming from him. He tried using the wall to gain back his balance and crashed through it instead, the drywall softened by mould. A cloud of dust erupted from the hole and made Jaskier cough as he rushed over to help.  
> "Geralt, are you okay?" he inquired, swallowing back a laugh at the sight of the big man covered in dust and sprawled on the floor. The carpenter looked more embarrassed than hurt. He accepted Jaskier's hand to get back to his feet and dusted himself off.  
> "I'm fine. Lost my footing, is all." He cleared his throat, quickly recovering his composure.  
> "You saved us some time on removing this wall, not bad."

"Have you heard stories about this inn, Geralt?"

Geralt stumbled on his toolbox and almost fell over, an unusual act of gracelessness coming from him. He tried using the wall to gain back his balance and crashed through it instead, the drywall softened by mould. A cloud of dust erupted from the hole and made Jaskier cough as he rushed over to help.

"Geralt, are you okay?" he inquired, swallowing back a laugh at the sight of the big man covered in dust and sprawled on the floor.

The carpenter looked more embarrassed than hurt. He accepted Jaskier's hand to get back to his feet and dusted himself off. "I'm fine. Lost my footing, is all." He cleared his throat, quickly recovering his composure.

"You saved us some time on removing this wall, not bad." Jaskier commented and smiled at the small huff of laughter it earned him. Geralt deserved to lighten up more often. They were standing close to one another and neither made a move to put distance between them. He was sporting his white hair in a half-updo that day. Shorter strands had escaped his tie and framed his handsome face. Jaskier hadn't asked about it, figured it was some medical condition akin to albinism.

For a second, Geralt's eyes flickered down on his face, but it was such fleeting moment he convinced himself he'd imagined it. "This inn has an interesting reputation. Its owners are usually quick to resale it."

Jaskier's wandering thoughts stopped as he blinked back to the present. "Because of her decaying state? She just needs some remodeling, soon she'll be back up and about." He stepped sideway to pat the half-destroyed wall and take a deep breath, away from Geralt's unfair attractiveness.

"Partially, but there's also been paranormal rumours. Apparitions, misplaced objects, footsteps."

"And you believe in them? I always assumed you were the skeptical cartesian type."

Geralt wasn't facing him, but he heard him chuckle darkly. "There are things you can't escape from."

"Indeed," Jaskier breathed out, thinking of the odd noises and the feeling he was being watched when he was alone in the inn, the cold pockets of air and the few isolate cases of being touched by a being that didn't wish to be seen. "I'm, uh, familiar with unusual events."

Geralt didn't reply, but he kept giving him side glances until he left later that day. Jaskier wrote about it in his journal and decided the best way to know what happened in this inn was to seek possible archives. It might give him answers as to why there was so much activity.

_ He was still laying in his bed, but he could hear fighting sounds downstairs. He dragged his numb body to the source, mind fuzzy and uncertain. It was dark in the halls, he didn’t think of bringing a candle. He knew the layout even in the darkness though and managed not to knock into anything on his way down. The sounds were coming from the kitchen, and he found Geralt there, wearing a full set of armour like it was the middle age and he was getting ready for war.  _

_ "Why are you here?" He asked him and Geralt approached, put his hand on his cheek. It was very warm.  _

_ He had to be dreaming. _

_ "Go back to bed and forget you saw me," he said; voice inviting, compelling. _

Mere glimpses of that dream remained in the morning, until the next time where everything would come crashing down on him before he’d forget again. Jaskier should’ve paid more attention at that odd feeling every time he’d get up and realise his nightshirt was dirty when it hadn’t been the night before or when he once woke up in a different room altogether. He should but he didn’t, because he was sure it was the ghosts’ doing. They kept giving him disturbing nightmares he questioned the meaning of, if there was one. 

More and more, they were showing up, and although most of them were mere lingering presences, they still took their toll on Jaskier’s energy. He was already physically pushing his body hard with the renovations - he was an artist after all, not meant for such manual work, but also he had to pretend there wasn’t a constant onslaught of invisible people intruding on them. 

Suffice to say, there was no way Geralt would want anything remotely romantic with him. Not after he saw a face peer from the floor and screamed like a banshee while they were installing a new parquet on the second floor. Or that time the tall faceless ghost appeared in the kitchen while they were having tea and scared him half to death trying to tell him something, inarticulate sounds coming out of the void where a mouth should’ve been.

There was only so many excuses he could use before Geralt would grow suspicious. No, he already was, that much was sure. He caught on the regular Jaskier looking at a ghost and whispering with them, the man must think he was insane.

The worst were the Bad Ones, as he started to call them. They would be the ones tapping on walls and slamming doors, moving objects and sometimes shoving Jaskier. It never was hard enough to hurt him but each event left him unnerved and worried for what they might do once they gathered enough energy.

Thus the reason he gave a day off to Geralt and took a carriage up to Southampton, where the nearest archives were situated. The change of air calmed him just as much as having a new goal in mind.

The employees of the library directed him to the appropriate section, a secluded long table surrounded by musty old papers. He dove in. He found out in the Hampshire Chronicle that the previous owner only had the inn for two years and that he wasn't even living in the county, not interested in renovating the inn at all and only using it to make profit with the resale. He didn’t find their name, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to know it was Valdo Marx.

The owner before that was probably the cause of its current state. He had inherited it at his mother's death. The mother, Jaskier found out, was Odes Goldwan. The inn had been very successful under her ownership, used as a coaching inn and offering nights of gambling in the drawing and dining rooms that also was used as a pub. She had been renowned for loving to dance and hosting intimate soirees.

Jaskier let out a slow breath. Could she be the lady in white?

There was mention of a husband, and then not anymore. He tracked the eulogies and found him in there. 1753, the man had died from cancer. He found Odes' eulogy as well. Murdered under mysterious circumstances at the inn during one of the gambling nights.

He found articles of police having to intervene a few times for cause of violent altercations. Nothing unusual when gambling was involved, Jaskier himself had had a few experiences with sore losers – albeit he'd cheated his way to success, but no one needed to know that.

He found another interesting article dating from 1784, under the son's ownership. Someone had reported lights and foreign voices chanting from the inn when it was closed, and even though they never found anyone, they did find evidence of intrusion through the basement entry and that people from some cult had gathered in the sub-basement, leaving symbols and melted candles behind.

A shiver ran down Jaskier's spine. Not only he was discovering cultists performed rituals at his inn, but also that it had a sub-basement he had no knowledge of. Had it even been on the floor plans provided to him by the city? He didn’t remember seeing it.

He continued and tried to go further back. He found out the inn had been in the Goldwans’ possession for many generations but by that time he found the contract paper from the royal family giving them the estate, it was already past supper time. He had skipped lunch and had a light breakfast, which meant he was tired and famished. 

Had the royal family built the inn in the 14th century? Had they been part of that cult, or was it out of convenience the cultists had decided to gather there? Jaskier doubted it was the case, not with how active the location was. There had to be a reason why so many ghosts were stuck there.

Perhaps he’d have to ask them directly, seeing as he couldn’t find his answers at the archives.

There was a market nearby the civic centre where he bought food he ate on the way back to Rosemerrow. The road seemed a lot more sinister in the night, with barely a sound but for the wheels and the rhythmic horses’ hooves on the road. He sang lowly to himself, a mindless song about ghosts not letting him sleep. 

He was dropped in front of the inn and he made his way through the side yard to enter through the kitchen. 

Only to stop short, puzzled.

"Geralt, why are you here, this late, when I told you to take the day off?"

He'd spotted him by the gleam the light cast on his white hair which was collected together in a bun. Jaskier knew he favoured this hairstyle for heavy work. Geralt quickly turned away, something made of glass in his satchel clicking together. He seemed ready to bolt, caught red-handed as he was.

"More importantly, why do you have a sword?" Jaskier continued when he got no answer.

Had he been here to kill him in his sleep? No, he rejected the idea. The Geralt he knew would never do such a thing. Swords were used like fashion statements back in London, but the trend hadn't been adopted in Rosemerrow, and he'd never seen Geralt with one. What was most curious was he was carrying it on his back, a heavy-looking thing not meant for fencing.

"I was hoping to see you," Geralt began, still not facing him.

"Why, to give me evening sword lessons? Uh, that didn't have such a double-entendre in my head. Either way, I don't think it was to see me, as you won't even look at me."

"I... have an eye condition. I'd rather not show myself to you like this."

"I doubt anything about you could be not pretty. Trust me, I won't judge."

Jaskier bit his lip at his own words. That was showing his cards, he was asking Geralt to trust him when the man hadn't been honest from the start. It'd been foolish of Jaskier to wait it out instead of bringing it up right away, he was starting to regret it.

Geralt's shoulders dropped, releasing the tension, and he slowly turned around. It was difficult to see him, but the street light was casting its golden glow far enough that Jaskier saw what Geralt meant. His eyes were completely black, no irises visible, with black veins running from them. A stark contrast on his otherwise fair face. Jaskier couldn't help the small noise he made, but then he was raising his hand to gently prod Geralt's undereye.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, suddenly realising he was touching Geralt's face. He quickly retreated but forced himself to stay nearby. He wasn't afraid of him, he was telling him, he was simply giving him space.

"No, but I feel... overwhelmed." Perhaps it was a symptom of panic attack? Jaskier knew some people who suffered from sensory overloads.

"What triggers the condition? It never happened before and we've worked together for a month now."

Geralt shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the whole conversation. Jaskier sighed. He was tired and anxious of what could be laying in that sub-basement and his head had been swirling with dreadful possibilities. He wasn't looking forward to going downstairs and exploring it.

"I'm too cold for this conversation. Why don't we head inside, I'll make some tea and you can explain to me once we've warmed up?"

Geralt wordlessly nodded and led the way inside, Jaskier uneasy at the idea of being in front of him with that sword. Contradictorily, he felt reassured he wasn't alone in the inn right now. If Geralt wanting to hurt him, he had had many opportunities to do so already, he didn’t need to sneak in the middle of the night for that.

Still, Geralt dropped his sword near the entrance of the kitchen and sat at the table while Jaskier settled the kettle on the stove and retrieved the tea leaves. Geralt's eyes had yet to return to normal, it was odd being stared at by them, should've been horrified, but Jaskier had seen worst things in his life. They made him look different, but no less beautiful. Geralt was actually slumping his shoulders in an attempt to appear smaller, fruitless with the armour he sported.

"I think you and I need to have a honest conversation, Geralt. Here you go." He put down their cups and a variety of biscuits he knew Geralt loved. Sure enough, he devoured half of them in record time. The poor lad always seemed famished no matter the amount of tea breaks they'd take in a work day. "So. Ghosts. I realise I haven't told you the whole truth about myself either. Let's do a trade of information, shall we? An honest heart to heart."

"Alright." Geralt blew on his steaming cup and took a careful sip. The veins around his eyes weren't as prominent already.

"I've had people who I thought were friends turn away from me because of what I'm about to say."

That caught Geralt's attention. "Trust me, I won’t judge,” he repeated Jaskier’s previous words. Jaskier had a small smile.

"My grandmother died when I was very young. My parents told me she was in a better place, that we had to go tell her goodbye. I asked them why because she was right next to them. That's the first time I realised I was seeing a ghost. Ever since then, it's been… entertaining," he let out a nervous laugh, "seeing and interacting with astral entities that knew I could see them."

"Are there any here?" The question threw him off. It wasn't what Jaskier had expected him to first ask him.

"This inn is very popular with dead guests. Everywhere I go, there's someone. Sometimes there's a Spanish cook here, we usually try to both mind our business."

"All those times when I heard you talking to yourself, or staring at what I thought was nothing…" Geralt pondered, his large hands wrapped around his delicate tea cup. "This makes sense now. I'd never seen humans do that before."

Jaskier slowly blinked. "And you're not including yourself into that term why exactly?"

"I'm a witcher," Geralt said, as if that explained everything. It didn't.

"A witch-er? What's that, someone more talented than a normal witch?"

Geralt chuckled. "Don't let Triss or Yennefer hear you say that, they'll give you an earful. Witchers are humans who went through mutations to gain more abilities that allow us to kill monsters. My senses are enhanced."

"What kind of monsters are we talking about?"

"Usually non-humans. Some of them are part of the western folklore; vampires, werewolves, ghouls and so forth. Others aren’t as well-known."

"So witchers are monster hunters that people forgot about? You don't fancy me as being young. There's this whole," he gestured at his own face, "maelstrom going on."

Geralt smirked. "You're smarter than you look."

"Well thank you for thinking so," Jaskier sputtered. "My boyish looks can be deceitful and most useful in numerous situations, including you thinking you could get away with pretending to be a carpenter when you couldn't figure out what half of the tools in your toolbox was for."

"Why did you let me continue my charade then?" Geralt tilted his head, the tension between them growing thicker.

"Why the fake act, Geralt?" Jaskier countered, diverting the attention from him. "What's so intriguing about this inn that you had to find a way inside?"

Geralt stared at him while he took a long sip of his tea. "A sorcerer."

When he didn't elaborate, Jaskier crossed his arms. "Please, not so many details at once, this is too much information,” he sarcastically said. Geralt huffed.

"I've been chasing him all over Europe for decades. Every time I kill him and think he's done for, he comes back. He's a necromancer who keeps reanimating monsters I took down in the past."

"So tonight, you were killing one of those?"

"Hmm. My eyes aren't from a condition. It's a side-effect from the potion I took to help me defeat it."

"What type of potions?"

"To turn my blood into poison." Geralt provided a small vial from the satchel he was still carrying. The black liquid inside didn’t look anything fancy. Jaskier wanted to ask him how many types there was, but he figured Geralt didn't want to share all his profession's secrets to a half-stranger.

"What was the monster?" He instead asked, giving back the vial.

"You wouldn't know what it is." Geralt carefully tucked it back in a side pocket. They were in a specific order, Jaskier realised, for easier access.

"It was in my home, I'd like to know what lurks in this inn." Geralt looked surprised, to which Jaskier scoffed. "Please. You have the key to the kitchen door, you looked guilty when I came upon you, there's mud on the floor that wasn't there this morning and your boots are caked in mud. Do I need to continue?" Jaskier rested his chin on his hand. He could swear he had been a spy in another life.

Geralt shook his head. "You weren't supposed to know."

"I knew right away you weren't what you pretended to be."

"Rosemerrow has been the latest subject of the sorcerer's interest, more precisely this inn for the abnormal amount of errant chaos – you call it magic - lurking in it. It could be the ghosts' doing, but I suspect they’re merely the symptoms of a bigger problem: the building itself. Something as deep as its foundations. Monsters are attracted to chaos."

"Perhaps it's a bit of everything. The location being a natural source of chaos, people exploiting it and causing the dead to remain here as a consequence."

"That could be it." He hesitated for a moment. "The monster I killed tonight was a cemetaur. They normally prefer locations where death prevails, usually cemeteries and battlefields, never this close to civilisation. I'm afraid the sorcerer is growing bolder, and them with him."

“Where was it? In the basement?”

Geralt nodded. “That’s where most of them spawn. I placed glyphs with the hope it’d keep them out, without success. Something keeps pulling them here.”

Jaskier sighed, all that information crashing down on him. Geralt pushed a biscuit towards him and he ate it slowly. He was tired.

"So how long have you been really here?" He changed the topic, trying to lighten up the mood.

"A decade, I think. Other sorceresses have moved here to help me, but so far we haven't got any closer of finding a clue other than cold trails."

"Triss and Yennefer, yes? I've met Triss, the lovely woman who owns the apothecary. I'm not surprised she has magical abilities."

"Yennefer is her total opposite. You'll meet her soon enough. Where did you spend today?" He'd been eyeing Jaskier's bag since they sat down. Jaskier retrieved his notebook inside and showed him his notes.

"I went to the archives, in Southampton, to get to know better the history of the inn. Did you know there's a sub-basement?"

Jaskier had learnt to read Geralt's micro-expressions, but he didn't need to this time. Surprise was all over his face. "It's not in the floor plans."

"My thought exactly. It appears there's one more secret to this place. A cult used to regroup here, in that sub-basement. I'm thinking it’s somehow linked. I initially intended to have a look tonight." He finished eating a second biscuit before getting to his feet, but Geralt grabbed his wrist before he could step away. His hold was firm but not painfully so. How could he be so warm when Jaskier was chilled to the bone?

"It could be dangerous."

"I can't continue living over it now that I know it's there, Geralt. It can't be much more dangerous than my current predicament, what with the attracted monsters and such. Come with me if that reassures you."

"Foolish of you to think I'd let you go alone."

Jaskier barely hid his smile. "My, it almost sounds like you care for me." He retrieved Geralt's sword for him, puffing at how heavy it weighted, and a swell of pleasure spread in his chest at the small "I do" he heard behind him. He might've lingered longer than necessary in his space once he gave it to him, wondering if he was reading his intentions wrong. Geralt didn't step away either, the back of his hand grazing Jaskier's chest as he held his sword between them.

"Will you need anything else?" Jaskier lowly said, forcing his gaze not to stray to his mouth. Geralt's eyes were back to their natural amber, his complexion its normal shade.

"Hmm." Geralt wet his lips, started to lean forward... and Jaskier backed away, suddenly filled with anxiety. This wouldn't work, after all, was it? It was doomed to heartbreak and Jaskier didn’t want to lose him as a friend, it’d taken too much effort to crack into his shell.

"Come on then," Jaskier said as he picked up his lantern and walked down the hall, hiding behind a joyful façade. "Should I bring anything?"

"Only the lantern. We're only exploring for right now," Geralt said.

Jaskier was too far away to hear him sigh before he followed him.

The basement was in a better order than when Jaskier first moved in, but there was still a lot of items. They had cleaned it out, thrown away the useless objects and furniture and tidied it altogether so it didn't look like a cluttered mess, more like a clean mess. They started looking for a trap in the floor, as it was less conspicuous than a secret door in the wall. They probably would’ve seen the latter by now.

Geralt had assured him he could see fine in the dark so they kept to each side of the room to meet in the middle. Jaskier had to constantly move things around to inspect the floor and grew a sweat before he made any real progress. Perhaps doing this at this time of the night wasn't his best idea, but there was no way he would be able to sleep without knowing. It would be silly of him to seek another inn for the night without a proper excuse.  _ Oh, why I can't sleep at my inn? Well apparently cultists met in a secret sub-basement a long time ago and could've potentially forced the dead to remain in there. But sure, it’ll soon be spick and span for lodging. _

He groaned, linked his fingers behind his neck in frustration and refrained from kicking something that would only injure him. He took a deep breath through his nose. He could do this. He progressed slowly, listening to Geralt do the same on the other side. The witcher had no trouble pushing things back and forth, as if it all weighted nothing to him. It probably didn’t. Jaskier puffed, his ego slightly bruised.

"Found anything?" He asked him, pushing aside some crates containing old books he had yet to divide between keep or sale piles. Right now he was regretting not doing it. One of the crates wouldn't budge and he had to put down the lantern to use both hands and not only his leg like he'd been doing.

"Only a few spiders."

"Great. By the gods, why is this not moving?" He grunted and kept pushing. In concept, he knew it was useless to push something that obviously was stuck, but he'd grown so frustrated it felt good to get angry at something. Until the wood splintered and the crate broke, the books spilling everywhere. He sighed and put aside the crate to throw it away later, now useless, when he noticed marks underneath it. It had been scrapping against something. He started pushing the books aside.

"Geralt, I think I found it."

He had. He was touching something cold standing out from the floor. A handle. He was kneeling on the door trap.

Geralt helped him clear it. He didn't look ruffled at all, on the opposite of Jaskier who felt clammy despite the low temperature. Just as Geralt bent to open the door, Jaskier noticed something flicker by the corner of his eye, and he turned to see a little girl, a few years old at the time of her death. She was looking at them with a serious expression.

"You shouldn't go there," she said, her voice oddly echoing but clear enough that Jaskier understood her.

"Why not?" Geralt turned, thinking he was talking to him, and then looked where Jaskier was.

"You will die down there." She half-turned and faded away. Jaskier gulped.

"Lovely," he faintly said, his legs going numb.

"What happened?" Geralt asked, squeezing his shoulder. "Your heart is beating fast. What scared you?"

"A child appeared over there," he pointed the now vacant spot. "She said going down was a bad idea."

"Hmm. It’s okay. I'll make sure nothing happens to you," Geralt assured him, fondness melting his deep voice into honey. Jaskier looked back at him. The warm glow of the lantern was enhancing his sharp features, his amber eyes turned golden. He was so handsome, and such a kind soul cocooned in a harsh shell.

Right. Not here for that kind of exploration. Jaskier opened the trapdoor.

A musty stench of rot and stale air made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. It was a small grace he didn't have a lung condition. He hovered the lantern in the hole for them to see better. An rusted iron ladder disappeared in the dark, deep below.

"How far down does this go?" He whimpered, not particularly fond of heights.

"Deeper than a normal basement should be. I'll go first."

He had no problem climbing down the ladder that seemed sturdy enough for his bulk. With a trembling sigh, Jaskier attached the lantern to his belt and put his feet on the first rung. He kept his eyes forward as he descended, grateful for Geralt who didn't make fun of him, instead telling him when he was about to hit the ground. He felt relieved until he looked up and saw a small face peek from the opening, then the hatch was slammed shut. Jaskier cursed.

"How dare she closed the door on us? It better not be locked when we get back because I will exorcise her, I swear to the gods,” he said, his voice echoing.

"Let’s worry about our current problem for now. Come look at this." Geralt was already further in the room, in total darkness, and only the glow of his eyes allowed Jaskier to see him. The room was beaten dirt, more a hole underneath the inn than anything else, and as he ventured forward, he realised it was a big space. He could see the wall behind the ladder but not the other ones.

Geralt was looking at an odd table, silver symbols carved into it. It seemed to be an altar of some deity, the stone looking rusty at some places.

"Can you recognise some of these?" Jaskier asked. He was fairly sure he'd seen a few but didn't know where.

"Yes. Nothing good." Geralt copied them in a small notebook and next examined something on the ground, digging in the dirt. "They summoned something big. Perhaps that's what is causing the chaos to be overpowered."

"How do we disrupt it?"

"Not us. Yennefer is one of the most powerful sorceresses I know, she could be able to vanish it. This room is connected to a tunnel system, the monster could be anywhere." There was something else in Geralt's voice that he wouldn't tell him. Jaskier frowned and traced a symbol on the surface. 

Stone couldn’t rust. This was dry blood. A lot of it.

“Living sacrifices,” he realised.

“Human ones. There’s bones buried here.”

Jaskier wiped his hand on his trousers, but it didn’t remove the phantom feeling of being dirty. Disgusting.

“We should carry the remains somewhere where they can rest in peace,” he sighed.

“Not now. It’s coming.” Geralt grabbed his arm just as they felt the ground shake. Small tremors that quickly rhythmically increased. Something huge was walking closer.

"We need to leave," Geralt told him urgently, the lines of his body tense. This didn't bode well. Jaskier didn't protest and instead hurried back to the ladder. He started climbing fast, more scared of whatever was coming for them than the height. That door had better be unlocked.

It was.

The child ghost wasn't there when he emerged in the basement, thankfully for her, and he turned to help Geralt up and close the door, bolting it shut just in case. Whatever was underneath would probably have no qualms getting through if it wanted to, but considering he didn't know for how long it'd been down there, it could've done so at any time. By the gods, he hoped disturbing its lair wouldn't give it a reason.

"Do you know what it is?" Jaskier whispered, voice slightly trembling from the rush of adrenaline.

"I have a fairly good idea. I met something similar in the past, a long time ago."

They returned upstairs. Jaskier closed and locked the door of the basement for good measure, knowing it was useless. A child haunting it was disturbing, and now he knew why she was there. He should’ve paid more attention to her clothing to figure out a timestamp, but he’d been too disturbed by what was coming out of her mouth. 

"I need a drink," he mumbled, heading to his stash. He'd brought his favourite drinks from the bar just in case he wanted to relax, and tonight was the perfect occasion.

"Make it two, please."

Jaskier brought over whiskey and two coloured tumblers decorated with delicate flower designs. He served them both and downed his glass, cherishing the warmth settling in his stomach. He also brought bread, butter, jam and hard cheese. It wasn't a feast but Geralt was always hungry, it was the least he could do to thank him.

Geralt had served him when he settled down and they toasted to still being alive. "For the moment," Jaskier couldn't help but add. A monster was living under his house, a mould problem was derisive compared to that.

"Yennefer will be able to better decipher the symbols, but I believe it's a Koshchey. The last time I fought one, I almost died. "

"Oh. Great. And you're the only one who can kill it, or is there any other way?"

"Silver bullets could slow it down, possibly. It resembles a bit spider, only with large pincers and really tough skin. I can only make theories as to why a cult would summon it and leave it down there for so long. No one would suspect such monster roaming right below their feet."

Jaskier repressed a shiver and sliced the bread. He put butter and jam on the slice and forced himself to eat it. He didn't have much of an appetite but didn't wish to wake up with a pounding headache.

It was too late to bang on someone's door, and if Geralt said it was best not to disturb the sorceress' sleep, then Jaskier trusted him on that. He didn't like the idea of sleeping in that inn while they hadn't solved the mystery below them, and so he was relieved when Geralt proposed to stay for the night.

"I'd invite you at my home, but it's small."

"Where do you even live?" Jaskier had never asked him, now that he thought about it. The man was so mysterious that he'd spent more time trying to read his emotions than to ask the right questions. This night was the most he'd shared about himself.

"Not far from here. Is it alright if I bring my horse in the stables for the night as well?"

That was how Jaskier met Roach, a lovely lady who became more interested in him once he offered her an apple and some sugar cubes, to Geralt’s amusement. They'd recently put back the stables in order and she seemed to appreciate her new temporary space.

"She's a charmer. Come on now, I'm exhausted."

Jaskier felt silly showing Geralt one of the rooms they’d just been renovating, but good manners had been instilled in him. He’d retrieved fresh sheets and had made the bed while Geralt was gone, so it was ready for him.

"I usually wake up early, but if I don't, make us coffee please. I feel like I'll need it."

"Mm." Geralt was watching him with that look again. Jaskier fidgeted in the doorway.

"Good night then," he finally said, preparing to close the door.

"Good night."

He kept two candles lit in his room, too strung up to even imagine sleeping in the dark. The shadow ghost was less prone to visit him when there was light as well. It turned out the tall ghost was friendlier than they first appeared and only wanted to be around him, to Jaskier's irritation. They scared him every time they showed up. 

He cleaned up his room, prepared his outfit for the next day, checked if the window was properly locked, slid the dagger he normally kept in a drawer underneath his pillow instead and finally laid down. The knife wouldn't do much good against a monster, but he wouldn't go down without a fight.

He read for a while. Whenever he tried to close his eyes, all he could see was the sub-basement with the weird symbols. He knew he'd seen these before... at the archives, maybe? Doubtful. Somewhere in town then, nearby?

He rustled around in his bed and started counting in his head. When he reached a hundred, he huffed in frustration. The clock was indicating 3AM already. He read some more, thought about masturbating before giving up on that idea. A witcher was nearby the other room, there was no way he wouldn't be able to hear him. Or smell him? Oh gods, could Geralt identify scents, and if he could, had he done it with him? This was mortifying.

A light knock at the trapdoor made him jump and grab his dagger. "Jaskier? I heard you fidgeting. Can I come in?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaptainMarianna).


	3. Obvious Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a few things to say before jumping in this chapter:  
> 1) I changed the gender of the antagonist. It used to be she/her, now it's he/him. I fixed it in the previous chapter but if I forgot a pronoun, now you know.  
> 2) I was supposed to also come out with a Sleepy Hollow AU for Halloween. As you can probably guess, this fic won't be done by Halloween, let alone the Sleepy Hollow one. I really wanted to and I started writing it, but I'm a slow writer. Considering Halloween is not celebrated worldwide anyway, I figured horror stories are okay all year long, right? So it's going to come out, just not this month.  
> 3) Warning: There's spiders appearing in this chapter. If you have a phobia of them, I'll spoil the portion with them in the end notes so you know what's up.  
> 4) Check out the new tags. ;)

Jaskier let out a deep breath. "Sure," he said. He dropped the weapon on the nightstand and straightened up in his bed, arranging the sheets.

"Couldn't sleep either?" He asked and watched Geralt walk upstairs and gently pull down the door behind him. Oh, he was only wearing trousers, his broad chest on full display. Oh.  _ Oh. _ He didn't know where to look, there was a lot to take in. He had so many scars... How many monsters had he fought, in his long life, and how many had been non-humans?

"No. There's a lot on my mind."

“Come sit down." He patted the space next to him.

Geralt installed himself beside him and tucked his feet under the blanket at the end of the bed, leaning against the bedframe like Jaskier. His heat was radiating through Jaskier's thick pyjamas. This room wasn’t heated yet and he tended to get cold at night despite his multiple woolen blankets. Right now he was very close to forget his inhibitions and plaster himself against Geralt for warmth.

"You said you fought the Koshchey before. Is it a hardy opponent?"

"Hmm. I almost died last time."

Jaskier frowned and instinctively took his hand. Geralt linked their fingers together. "I'm sorry. Could you request the help of other Witchers, perhaps, so you don't have to bear the task alone. I mean, I'll help as best as I can, but—"

"I won't have you put in danger." Geralt squeezed his hand. He turned his head towards him, his beautiful features enhanced by the candlelight, his eyes sorrowful. He wet his lips. "I don't know where the other Witchers are. Back in Poland, we were only a handful left, and I lost track of them over a century ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jaskier repeated, at loss of what to say. "Were you close to them?"

"Some more than others. Two of them in particular, Eskel and Lambert, I grew up with them, and although we didn't always get along, we always had each other's back in a world that didn't want us."

His eyes were dry, but Jaskier could see the pain and turmoil in them. "Just how old are you? You speak of your past as if it happened a long time ago."

Geralt huffed. "I'm older than this inn. I was born near the end of the 12 th century, I don't remember the exact date."

Jaskier blinked in surprise. He'd already acknowledged the idea of Geralt being more than what he looked like, but knowing he was over 700 years old was a different matter. "So you don't celebrate your birthdays?" He inquired.

"That's what you choose to retain, from everything I just told you?" Geralt replied, visibly amused.

"It's me coping. So, how many birthdays do we need to catch up on?"

"None. Time doesn't work the same way for me than for humans."

"Well, that's sad. Remind me to buy you a cake once this is all done. You try to hide it, but I know you have a sweet tooth."

Geralt had a small smile, something akin to fondness softening the lines between his brows. Jaskier smiled back, cherishing that moment of intimacy. Geralt pushed his sleeve up to swipe his thumb on the sensitive skin of his wrist, still not looking away.

Of course a ghost had to interrupt. He saw the tall man from the corner of his eye and turned around to scoff at him.

"Why are you here, I told you already—"

"Danger," they grumbled. Jaskier was surprised by that. They would hover nearby and babble at him sometimes, but never anything intelligible. 

"Where?"

"Below."

"Oh I know. That's why we need to take care of it, before it's too late."

They hovered towards the bed, which Jaskier didn't like. They had caused him no trouble beyond fear, but he didn't particularly like to be touched by any of the ghosts. It felt like a cold dead fish on his skin.

"I'm guessing one of them is here?" Geralt asked, surveying the space Jaskier was looking at.

"Hm, indeed. Alright chum, stay back a little, will you? Thank you for warning me."

"Don't go," the ghost insisted, their voice stronger now. They petulantly yanked on the covers before disappearing.

"They're gone." Jaskier sighed and got up to put back the bed in order, with Geralt's help. "They warned me not to go."

"It's the shadow ghost, isn't it? They seem fond of you."

"Mm. Perhaps. I don't know. Maybe they just enjoy being acknowledged."

"They do make for a good audience, after all."

Geralt was jesting, and Jaskier accepted it with a roll of his eyes. He climbed back into the bed and opened the other side in a silent invitation. Geralt untied his trousers and let them drop to the floor before joining him. There was no way he wouldn't smell Jaskier's mix of confusion and interest.

"Jaskier. I admit I’m not in your bed only to comfort you," Geralt said, turning on his side to place a large hand on Jaskier's chest. He idly started to play with the chest hair peeking from his flannel shirt. Jaskier peered at him through the semi-darkness. It wasn't often he was at loss for words, but right now he wasn't sure what he wanted. No, that wasn't quite right, was it?

Ever since he left the hostile home of his parents and moved here, he’d been carrying a sort of hope that he refused to let go of despite everything that happened since he stepped down from the carriage to lay eyes on the inn. His dreams wouldn't happen unless he made them happen, he realised early on.

He curled a hand on the back of Geralt's neck and gently pulled him closer. Geralt went willingly. Jaskier lifted his head and met him halfway, their mouths touching clumsily. It was Jaskier's fault, but he shifted his hand to cradle Geralt's cheek instead, and the next kiss was much better, Geralt's exhale through his nose fanning over Jaskier's face. His lips were chapped but supple and so warm, sinfully moving against Jaskier's. He was much more skillful at kissing than at using a hammer, he quickly found out. Well, maybe not all types of hammer...

His thoughts cut short at the feel of Geralt's strong highs straddling him. His hands automatically navigated to them, squeezing where it was the meatiest. He was practically naked on top of him, his long hair tickling his neck as he kept kissing him, over and over again. To be fair, Jaskier was as desperate for him, exploring his ass and scarred back and receiving deep hums of appreciation in return.

Geralt pulled his shirt up and helped him out of it, his warmth well making up for the loss of the garment. He cussed under his breath. "Fuck, look at you." He teased his pectorals and nipples with blunt fingers, pinching the latter until they were hard as pebbles and Jaskier was panting into his mouth. He needed more. He'd slowly grown harder Geralt had been on him, epitome of eager man, but his trousers became uncomfortably tight at the first roll of Geralt's hips into Jaskier's stomach, his underclothes so dented Jaskier wondered how it hadn't ripped. He was huge.

They managed to undress in the midst of kisses and humping, until they were skin on skin. Geralt had flipped them to be underneath him, watching him with half-lidded eyes and a soft pleasured expression that made him all the more handsome. Jaskier sucked bruises under his jaw and down the broad column of his neck, marveled by the slow pulse he felt against his lips. He wondered how fast it could go... A thought for another time. He licked his prominent Adam's apple and smiled at the reaction it elicitated.

"What do you want, my dear?"

"Anything you want," Geralt groaned. He turned his head and carded his fingers in Jaskier's hair, encouraging him to continue abusing his neck.

"You can't tell me that." Jaskier breathed against his damp skin and watched goosebumps appear. "It's dangerous. I want to do many things with you."

"Hmm. What you're doing right now is already great."

"Yeah? You like me marking you? How long will these last?"

"An hour, two if you pour your heart into it."

Oh, and Jaskier sure did. His lips throbbed with how hard he sucked on his skin, littering his neck and collarbones with red blotches, the first ones already turning yellow and purple under his eyes. He canted his back just so to rub their cocks together, but it didn't feel as good as it could.

"In the nightstand, fetch the oil, please."

Geralt easily found it, under a stack of papers filled with poems and songs Jaskier had been inspired to write at night. He didn't remark on it, but Jaskier saw the way he peeked down at the song sitting on top. It spoke of lost love.

"Let me," he said, uncorking the vial to pour some in his palm. A few drops spilled on his chest before he reached between their bodies for their cocks and rubbed them both. He spent some time on Jaskier's, stroking him with centuries of expertise. Jaskier whined and thrusted in his fist. Geralt leaned on one hand to have a better look, gently rocking up into him. It'd been so long since anyone other than himself had touched him, let alone one he had feelings for.

"How does this feel?" Geralt asked him, his voice huskier with lust. Jaskier would pay him to have him read poetry with that voice.

"Fucking fabulous. You're marvelous at handling all sorts of swords, it appears."

Geralt laughed, a breathless sound Jaskier never tired of hearing, and nosed his cheek. "You're so fucking cute."

"I will let this comment pass, as you have my cock in your hand."

"Hmm. You're right, nothing cute about your big dick." He twisted his wrist and pulled, making Jaskier see stars. He swore under his breath and shifted to join his hand.

"Never thought you'd be this talkative in bed, darling, not that I mind." He aligned their cocks to take them in his fist, unable to fully wrap his hand around but trying his best. Geralt rearranged his own hand and urged Jaskier to move by palming his ass. Jaskier didn't need to be told twice.

He slid faster back and forth, caught between Geralt's cock and their shared grip.

He came first, spilling on their fists and Geralt's stomach. It was messy, and it'd only get messier. Thighs quivering from a mix of his orgasm and the tenacious activity they'd just endured, he shifted to lay between Geralt's spread legs. He batted Geralt’s hand away from his cock to have it to himself, so hard it felt like steel. He rested his cheek on a thick thigh and looked up at Geralt, giving him a luscious smile when their gazes met.

"What a view," he slowly breathed directly on his balls. Geralt moaned and shifted, trying to get his mouth closer, which Jaskier softly chuckled about before abdicating.

"Don't tease."

"I won't. Are you close to cumming?"

"Continue looking at me like that and I will."

"Interesting." Jaskier leaned forward and licked a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock with the flat of his tongue. He focused on the head and his balls for a moment, massaging them and the spot underneath them, taking down more lenght at Geralt’s approval. 

His fingers had some oil already but he also gathered what had spilled on Geralt's stomach. He pressed one finger against his hole and massaged the puckered ring, making Geralt moan. He gripped the sheets and asked for more, lifted a leg to give him easier access. Jaskier let go of his cock to press open-mouthed kisses on his inner thigh, the hairs there light and scarce, the complete opposite of Jaskier. 

He slowly fucked him with a digit, his other hand stroking him faster. “Good?”

“More,” Geralt strained, sounding like he was on the very edge.

So Jaskier added a second finger and gave a few twists that had Geralt was spasming and spilling all over himself, adding to the mess on him. 

"Fuck," He gasped out, licking his dry lips. 

"Fuck indeed. You liked that?" Jaskier retrieved the handkerchief from his bedside to wipe them with, lingering kisses all over Geralt's skin as he did so. The man didn't seem to mind at all, with the way he pressed himself closer.

"Yes. Your mouth is talented at many things."

Jaskier laughed and laid down properly to tug him closer. "I’ll have to properly show you my skills then, my heart. Wait, does that mean you enjoy my singing?"

"Of course you’d hold onto that," Geralt mumbled, face pressed into his neck. He was half draped over him, his thigh slotted between Jaskier's legs. His orgasm had made him sleepy and awfully sweet. "I didn't tell you so it wouldn't get in your head."

"Uh-huh. Too late for that."

He woke up with a mouthful of hair and a strand poking the inside of his nostril. He grumbled and the hair vanished from his face. Then a finger ran down his nose and a small kiss was pressed on his cheekbone. Jaskier recognised the musky spicy scent and turned his face, silently asking for him to continue.

Geralt gently carded his fingers in his hair and scratched his scalp. "It's the first time you're this quiet."

"Mm."

The larger man chuckled and adjusted himself to nuzzle his temple. "Your hair's so soft and thick," he idly commented, voice rough with sleep. He continued to stroke his hair for a while. "Always wanted to touch it."

"Mmyeah? I thought you hated me and wanted me out of the inn."

"Wanted you out of the inn, yes, but I never hated you. I would’ve preferred you didn't stay here, but I came to understand how stubborn you are."

Jaskier smiled. "Right." He lazily caressed Geralt's naked side, his fingers finding scar after scar. Some were protruding, some large, some small. Claws and bite marks; arrow and stab wounds. How many wars had Geralt fought?

And yet Geralt was still kind and gentle and funny in his deadpan way. He didn't always like to talk but Jaskier didn't mind talking for two, and when he did talk, their conversations were always interesting.

Jaskier rubbed his eyes before finally opening them, the face that greeted him making him smile again. "Good morning." He pushed back Geralt’s hair and stroked his cheek. Geralt took his hand to press kisses on his knuckles, something soft curling in Jaskier’s heart at the gesture.

"Morning. Care for a shower?" He dared throw the covers back to get up, the cold air immediately invading Jaskier. The latter was divided between being angry at him and appreciative at the sight of his naked self, especially when he bent down to retrieve his underclothes. His ass was like a peach and Jaskier wanted to bite into it.

They went downstairs to brush their teeth and take a shower. Jaskier wasn't familiar with this level of intimacy, but neither was Geralt, he admitted in the bathroom. They both were in new territory. They traded lazy kisses while washing themselves, Jaskier finally able to treat Geralt's hair with his oil, a mix of ylang ylang and coconut oil along with a few others. It would soften the strands and make them easier to brush later on.

Geralt indulged him and made sure he was thoroughly cleaned, palming and squeezing him and not looking like he tired of it. Jaskier had been complimented about his physique many times in his life, but nothing came as close as the reverent way Geralt was touching him and looking at him.

He dressed up while Jaskier shaved and then let him brush his hair, rolling his eyes when Jaskier cooed at his wavy hair.

"Look how pretty you are with groomed hair," Jaskier was saying.

"I'm not pretty," Geralt sniffed, arranging his collar. He hadn't bothered tying it up yet and the beginning of his pectorals was beautifully exposed.

"Oh right, not pretty." Jaskier cradled his face and kissed his forehead. "You're a big scary witcher who kills monster. You definitely never pretended to be a carpenter, a very bad one might I add, to protect a stranger from evil evilness. Uh-huh."

He laughed when Geralt grumbled a low "sod off" before disappearing downstairs, probably to make coffee. Jaskier laughed and went back to his bedroom to dress for the day.

He noticed right away something was amiss in the room as soon as he walked up. The atmosphere was heavier and much colder than before, such that he thought his breath would condense in the air. He went to his dresser and quickly dug for underclothes, trousers and a shirt, not willing to get caught naked. He remained in the safety of the sole window’s rising light as he dressed up, forcing himself to remain calm. Whatever it was hadn't attacked yet.

He inspected the shadows, only shivering once when he found the culprit. There, that same presence he'd been occasionally feeling but that never showed up before, preferred to stalk him from afar.

"What do you want?" He demanded, using his anger to disguise his fear. The attic was supposed to be his safe haven, but ghosts haunted the whole inn. There was nowhere safe. The light mood of this morning completely disappeared at that thought.

He heard scratches, claws on the floor, and he had a fleeting thought that he'd need to sand those down before he was shoved back into his dresser. He didn't feel hands on him, instead a wave of energy crashed into him, unnerving him more than the pain of the wood digging into his back.

"Do not mingle in affairs you know nothing about," a distorted voice whispered in his ear, much closer than he would've liked. He fumbled in his underwear drawer to retrieve one of the glass bottles he'd stashed inside, glad he recognised it by its size. He uncorked it behind his back and poured some of the content in his hand.

"What affairs? The monster under my house? Why did you summon it?"

He stepped away, back against the window. A flicker of something made him look in that direction and finally, he saw it. A grotesque reminiscence of what once was a human, corrupted by their own evil acts even in death. They still had two arms and two legs, but their face was crumbled in itself, something wet and black dripping from their unseeing eyes like black tears. Tar. They'd been wanting him out since the start.

"Leave or die, boy." They extended their arms and from them fell dozens of small spiders, if not a hundred of them. They skittered towards him. Jaskier threw his handful of salt at the ghost who disappeared, but the spiders remained.

"Fuck," he yelled and started to stomp barefoot on the spiders, but there was too many of them. They climbed on him, some slipping under the hem of his trousers. He instinctively bent to chase them away, only for a few to jump in his face. He crashed backwards and barely managed to stay upright as he swatted at his own face.

He didn't hear Geralt until he swooped him off his feet and tucked him against his side. In the same movement, he raised his other hand and a lick of fire erupted from it with a spoken word, instantly burning the spiders to a crisp. Jaskier threw himself away from Geralt once the fire vanished and quickly unfastened his trousers to yank them down and make sure there was no more spider.

"Is there any more on me?"

Geralt ran his hands all over him and had him undress completely before being satisfied. "There's no more. What happened?" He returned the embrace when Jaskier took refuge in his arms, finally processing what had just occurred.

"A ghost is what happened," he mumbled in the safety of Geralt's soft hair. "They threw those spiders at me after threatening me not to mingle with the monster. I'm fairly sure it was a dead cultist."

"I'm sorry, love. I heard you yell and rushed here, but I shouldn't have left you."

"Nonsense. You can't always protect me. I know how to banish ghosts, but not actual tangible spiders. Fuck, I hate spiders."

"So they knew how to scare you. Or... it was a coincidence.” Geralt stepped away and held him by the shoulders. “Jaskier, have you ever heard of  _ Coram Agh Ter _ ?"

Jaskier took a deep breath as he raked his brain for where he could've heard or seen it. "I don’t think so?"

Geralt hummed. "Let's go downstairs, coffee's ready." Jaskier dressed up with different clothes and Geralt helped him finish off his outfit with his thickest burgundy frock coat made of wool with a silk inset, perfect for his shivering body. Jaskier had a last look at the spiders' corpses, now nothing more than small dark bits, and the scorch marks before following him.

It was warmer in the kitchen, thanks to the comforting fire roaring in the hearth. It wasn't necessary anymore, with the functioning stove and heating, but it seemed to bring comfort to Geralt, so Jaskier didn't say anything. He calmed down as he drank his coffee and ate, Geralt chatting with him about the next renovations on their list. He reached down a few times to scratch an itch on his legs, sure that it was a spider.

“Is the cult’s symbol a spider?" He finally asked.

Geralt nodded. "The Cult of the Lionhead Spider, Coram. Some call the deity Black Legba. It's technically not a cult anymore, as it's been around for about as long as I've been alive, but it's been stretched so thin I wasn't even aware it still existed."

"So what's their deal? That ghost clearly didn't want me around."

"Death and misery is what they want. They believe the deity is weaving destiny on their giant web, modifying it at their own will, and every cut thread requires a sacrifice. You said there was children ghosts here."

Jaskier felt sick. "That's disgusting."

The fire in the hearth bent to one side at a sudden bust of wind. "If those cultists are this powerful in death, they might've offered their lives to protect the temple. They feed on negative emotions."

"Wonderful. I'm ready to visit that Yennefer, now."

It was raining outside, a shocker, and they huddled underneath one of Jaskier's big umbrellas. He was fairly sure Geralt didn't mind the rain but took it as an excuse to remain close, a warm balm soothing his anxious heart. Yennefer wasn't living far from the  _ White Bear _ , in one of those beautiful modern houses.

Geralt titled his head for a moment, listening for something through the rain, before he chuckled and knocked. "She's with Triss."

"So early?... Oh. Well, that simplifies things, doesn't it?"

"One would say."

She opened the door wearing a nightgown and nothing underneath. Jaskier stared a few more seconds than was gentleman of him before he remembered his manners. She was already busy greeting Geralt with a small smile accentuating her full mouth and the perfect shape of her face, her dark hair loosely tied on top of her head.

"Are you in need of a potion or an ingredient?" She was inquiring, her gown slipping down a shoulder. Jaskier swallowed and brought back his attention to Geralt... who was smiling down at her. Jaskier had a pang of jealousy at that until he remembered they had known each other for centuries.

"It's about the inn."

"Have you made any progress lately? Other than finally admitting you're holding a flame for that new pretty owner you never shut up about."

"Yen," Geralt chastised her, and she finally quirked an eyebrow at Jaskier who politely smiled at her.

"Ah. That must be you. Jaskier, is it? Come in, there's no good having you drenched."

The inside of the house was just as lovely as the exterior, and warm. They hung their wet outer layer and ventured to the living room.

"Triss will keep you company while I go dress."

Triss greeted Geralt like an old friend, talking in quick Polish with him. Jaskier knew enough of the language that he could understand what they were saying, but he stepped away to give them privacy. He still remembered his grandmother giving him lessons as a child, how patient she had been with him when he would do anything but sit down and do his exercises.

Triss switched to English, winking at Jaskier. "You never visit anymore, why is that?"

He laughed while Geralt grumbled some half-articulated excuse. "Stop teasing him, he's here on my behalf. The inn is much more of a problem than mould and demoded wallpaper, I'm afraid."

"So it truly has a link with the reanimator. The sorcerer," she precised at Jaskier's confused expression, "but I refuse to be associated with him, so we've been calling him the reanimator instead."

"And he's been reanimating many monsters, from what Geralt told me."

"He has. It's becoming both frustrating and a game to guess which one will be next. So far Yennefer has been winning."

"By one point," Geralt said, sitting down on one of the plushy couches. Jaskier explored the living room, taking notes of the many books. Only a handful were written in English, some in Polish and some in... he picked one up to inspect it closer, opening it at a random page. This looked familiar. Where had he seen this before?

He checked the cover for any more of that familiarity, without success. He picked another one and frowned down at the text.

"Would you care for tea, Jaskier?" Triss called to him, breaking his reverie. He realised standing away from the others while he was a guest wasn't very proper of him, and so he went to the couch to sit beside Geralt.

"That'd be delightful, yes. You have quite the collection of books, may I inquire how many languages you speak?" He accepted the small cup with a smile, blowing on the beverage to cool it before taking a tentative sip. Earl Grey, not his favourite but always soothing.

"Many, but those books are our most treasured collection we're too fond of to part with, especially the ones in Elder Speech, those are very rare to come by nowadays."

"Elder Speech? I've never heard of it."

"An old language mainly used by sorceresses and elves, for the few who remain," Geralt explained. The cup looked minuscule in his big hand. He was almost done with it, munching on a biscuit Triss had also served.

"We don't know that," Yennefer's voice said from behind them. She looked even more delightful in a dark green dress, the empire waist enhancing her bust and making her look taller. She came around the couch to sit near Jaskier. "May I?" She asked him, her hand hovering near his face. Not knowing what her intention was but not sensing any malice from her, he nodded. She lightly touched him, her purple eyes gazing into his. He felt odd, like she could see in his head. To think of it, she probably could, being a sorceress and all. He tried not to fidget and even held his breath until she was done with her inspection.

"You have Elder blood," she concluded.

"I'm only thirty, I wouldn't say elder just yet..."

"Jaskier." Geralt placed his hand on his thigh. "She just spoke in Elder Speech."

Jaskier frowned. "Are you sure? I heard English."

Triss hid a chuckle behind her hand. "This is great," she said.

"I don't understand. What's Elder blood?"

"You're partly elf."

"Oh. Yes. Only one eight elf, I'm otherwise human. I think, at least."

"You knew?" Geralt asked, not sounding angry but intrigued. Jaskier sighed. He wasn't particularly fond of explaining his family history.

"I learnt it a long time ago, when I was still a child. My grandmother had more magic – chaos, you call it– that I do and she was killed because of it, I tend not to share that piece of information. It doesn't seem I inherited much of it either way, beside seeing ghosts."

Yennefer stared at him some more and smiled. "I also have elf blood, it's nothing to be ashamed about. I'm relieved some of that heritage lives on, despite the humans' numerous attempts to make it otherwise."

Truth be told, it wasn't something about himself Jaskier had ever been interested in, considering he'd spent most of his life receding his ability. Perhaps that was born from the hatred his family had spewn about the species during his childhood. What must his mother think of herself, being a fourth of a monster she'd claimed to hate?

"We got more insight on the inn," Geralt said, sensing his discomfort. "Jaskier discovered a sub-basement." He related in quick words what they had stumbled upon down there and retrieved his notebook to show Yennefer the symbols.

"I thought that cult didn't exist anymore."

"Idiotic opinions are hard to kill," Yennefer retorted. "If mages remained as priests and spread throughout Europe, then there will always be people worshipping that spider deity."

"Some of them should have a taste of that new invention, the Guillotine, like the French nobles did. Headless cultists can't spread no lies."

"You'd be surprised," Jaskier said, remembering one particular encounter with a ghost who had been looking for his head. As if on cue, he saw a shadow dart quickly by the opened doors giving on the hall. It seemed the two sorceresses had ghosts of their own. Anyone this old was bound to have some, he wondered if he'd ever seen Geralt's.

"If they summoned the Koshchey and caused the disruption in the chaos, then killing it would probably bring it back to normal. Now, the issue is, Stregobor is interested in Rosemerrow because of that disruption."

Jaskier understood what she wasn't saying. "You want to use the monster as a bait? What if he's the one who summoned it in the first place?"

"That's entirely possible and wouldn't be beyond him," Triss said. "If he did, then he's bound himself to it. By killing it we would make him vulnerable."

"Did you get a scent of him when you were down there?"

Geralt gave Jaskier a side glance. "I didn't. All I could smell was metallic dry blood and corpses. I would've ventured further but the monster started moving and I—"

"Wanted to make sure Jaskier was safe," Yennefer finished for him, smirking.

Geralt didn't deny it. "I'll go down there again then, alone." His jaw tensed. "I don't like pulling on loose threads."

"This is the only clue we've got in two years, Geralt. Last time we almost had him, then he used one of his mindbending spells to slip from our fingers," Yennefer groaned.

Jaskier cleared his throat. "I'll try and talk to the ghosts at the inn, try to get more information about the cult's previous whereabouts. That way we’ll be two trying to gather more clues." 

The other three nodded. "And we'll be looking for a way to help kill the Koshchey,” Triss added. “I'm sure we can find something, even if it's silver bombs."

"That wouldn't be a bad idea, actually," Yennefer smiled at Triss and they looked at each other with a complicity that Jaskier could only ever aspire to get with someone. 

Geralt got to his feet and offered his hand to Jaskier. "We'll be going then. No point in delaying the inevitable.”

They returned to the  _ White Bear  _ in silence, a rarity for Jaskier. He was mulling over the events of the past day and asking himself how things had escalated so quickly. Not that all of it was bad, he told himself with a smile as the back of Geralt's hand bumped against his.

They went through the side archway to access the inner yard where the stables were. Roach was still there, her ears twitching at the sight of her master. Geralt stroked her nose with a small smile.

"I need to return home, retrieve some items before I come back to investigate. Will you be alright on your own?" He inquired. His eyes were gentle. He was worried for him.

"Of course. If I get attacked by spiders again, I'll use a lantern to burn them all and hopefully not the whole inn." Jaskier wove his hands together and smiled to reassure him. He couldn't always rely on him to deal with his problems.

"Alright. I'll see you soon." Geralt started to lead Roach out of her enclosure but stopped when Jaskier tugged on his elbow. He readily leaned towards him and hummed at Jaskier's mouth on his, returning his kiss in the privacy that the stables provided for them. 

“Once it’s all done, let’s go to the Coast. The beach is so close, yet I had no time to visit it.”

“Once it’s all done,” Geralt promised him.

Jaskier had a last feel of that soft hair and let go with a huff. He waited for him to disappear in the street before turning around and unlocking the kitchen door. He spoke with ghosts on the regular, nothing to be nervous about. This time wouldn't be any different, only premeditated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens with the spiders: A ghost summons small baby spiders, Jaskier stomps on them but they still manage to climb on him. Geralt saves the day by burning them and none remains.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaptainMarianna). I'm hella more active on Twitter nowadays!


	4. Would you honour me with a dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odes turned to him, deep brown eyes looking more human than some still breathing people he met. "Your name is... Jaskier."  
> "Yes."  
> She smiled and her whole composure relaxed. "You chose it. It means dandelion, does it not?"  
> "It does. Do you know Polish?"  
> "No, you do." She raised a hand to gently tap his forehead. Her touch felt like ice on his sweaty skin. "I have a gift, just like you do."

It was eerily quiet inside, without any distraction to occupy Jaskier. He let out a slow breath and hung his coat before heading upstairs. He gathered the necessary from the closet to clean his bedroom in the attic. He opened the window before getting to the task. The dead spiders were still there, untouched, and he grimaced as he swept them in the dustpan. The scorch marks were easier to clean than he anticipated, but there was nothing he could do for the clawed ones. They were superficial at least, he remarked as he traced them with a finger.

It took him an hour to clean up his bedroom. He even changed the bedsheets. Thinking about what had occurred in the dirty ones gave him a spark of joy amidst… the shit. He put the sheets in the laundry room to deal with later and put his hands on his hips, standing in the middle of the second floor's hall. He observed the main street from the high windows, quiet at this time of the day. 

Right. Now onto more difficult tasks.

He went to the drawing room, opened the curtains to illuminate the room. It felt peaceful here, the eye of the storm. He sat down on the piano bench, pushed up the fallboard and started playing Moonlight Sonata. A slow pace for his fingers in need of a warm up. He played mindlessly for a few minutes. Then he shifted to faster paced folksongs, inciting the ghost of Odes Goldwan to come forward, if it was her. He had the intuition it was.

It didn't work, but it was just the start of his performance, and the piano didn’t feel adequate for his intentions. He got up to retrieve his lute instead. It wasn't as popular an instrument as it used to be, but he liked right away how it felt in his hands. The instrument was already tuned from last time, the strings mostly new and the wood polished. He strummed A Tempo Giusto, a fast-paced song that usually convinced the most timid person to dance. Unintentionally, he started to sing some improvised lines:

_ I know it makes you nervous  
_ _ But I promise you, it's worth it  
_ _ To show 'em everything you kept inside  
_ _ Don't hide, don't hide  
_ __ Too shy to say but I hope you stay  
_ Don't hide away  
_ __ Come out and play

One second, he was alone in the room; the next, a white dress fluttered in the wind as a woman with long hair danced in front of him. Unlike the previous time, she followed the rhythm of the song, perhaps more acquainted with the instrument. He played the rest of the song and slowly approached her. She was beautiful in death.

"I'd like to speak with you, Odes Goldwan," he said. He rarely used the ghosts' name as it angered them more often than not, when he knew their name to begin with, but this was important. If she remembered her life, she could give him precious information.

She turned to him, deep brown eyes looking more human than some still breathing people he met. "Your name is... Jaskier."

"Yes."

She smiled and her whole composure relaxed. "You chose it. It means dandelion, does it not?"

"It does. Do you know Polish?"

"No, you do." She raised a hand to gently tap his forehead. Her touch felt like ice on his sweaty skin. "I have a gift, just like you do."

"Oh." A shiver ran down his spine. "Why have you settled for this inn, if you can read people's minds?"

"Why have you?"

Jaskier opened his mouth to answer, then realised he didn't know the answer to that. He used to think it was to anger his parents, but considering he hadn't given them news since him moving in, he had to admit it was a lie. It hadn't been only for that reason, had it?

"Normalcy," he answered, darting his eyes over her face. She was as alive a ghost as he'd ever seen one, minus the lack of feet below her dress. "Or at least what I thought was a normal life. Strange events tend to occur whenever I go."

"Perhaps you and I are similar in that aspect.” She titled her head and ventured closer to the piano, observing it. Long notes echoed in the room without the keys moving. The curtains fluttered with a slow wind, but her dress remained motionless. “I wasn't supposed to inherit this inn, you see, my brother was, but I fought teeth and nails for it. I was tired of running, knew I could make it my home. I like what you've been improving."

"Running from what?"

Her expression darkened as her form faded in and out for a second. "Someone who wanted to use me for what I could do. I enjoyed my years here and I regret nothing, but the inn won't let me go. He's tainted it. His cult tainted it."

"Do you mean the, um—"

" _ Coram Agh Ter _ , yes. Monsters, all of them." 

What would a cult want with a mind-reader? Could they have harvested her power in some way, or use her magic for their own dark designs? Could they do the same with Jaskier, were they to find him? 

She swiftly turned her head, looking at something beyond what Jaskier could see. "One of them is here with us."

"I'm aware. I've had a personal encounter."

"They offered themselves as sacrifices, mindless puppets. They follow you now, day and night. Stalking, preying."

Jaskier blinked and she was right there, the air suddenly so cold his breath condensed in front of him. "Leave before it's too late." She cradled his cheek with a lifeless hand before disappearing. The imprint remained while the room returned to a normal temperature, tingling.

He rubbed his cheek as he returns to the main hall. It went better that he had expected, even if he was left with more questions than he started with. He thought the cult's only intention was to worship the spider deity and offer it human sacrifices, and here he just discovered they also chased people for their magical abilities. Odes had mentioned them being more akin than he thought...

He was walking by the posts next to the front lobby when something caught his eye. The wood was beautifully crafted with organic swirls, flowers and such. There was a lot happening so he'd never paid attention before to the multiple details, until now. His heart dropped in his stomach. 

The cult's symbols, that's where he'd seen them before. They were carved in a few spots, concealed and thus easy to miss. Those posts were original to the initial inn back in the 14 th century. The cult had been here as long as it existed.

He went to the storage room with all the renovation tools to retrieve a small chisel tool and a hammer. He returned to the post and, without hesitation, carved the symbols out of the wood, splinters flinging everywhere. He did the same for the other post, which left identical missing spots, not that he cared. He would have them redone, perhaps with dandelions in their place.

"Jaskier? I heard you hammering over there. Is everything alright?"

"Peachy perfect." He grabbed the bigger wooden pieces and brought them to where Geralt was, in the kitchen. He glimpsed through an opened bag on the table had more potions and were those bombs? "The cult, it was here from the start in Rosemerrow. I found the symbols carved on the posts in the lobby." He showed him. Geralt pursed his lips.

"It's as I suspected. A cave system this big, there's no way they carved it themselves. They built the inn on top."

"Great. If they did sacrifices and buried the corpses down there, I can't imagine how many souls are actually trapped here. How will I free so many?" Jaskier rubbed his mouth. He could give peace to a ghost with some effort involving burying or burning their body and crushing their bones to scatter them away. This potentially would take days. 

“We’ll find a way. Did you learn anything else?”

Jaskier nodded. “The previous owner I talked to you about, Odes, she could read minds. I think she was partly elf as well.”

“Oh. And you said she inherited the inn?” Geralt inquired. He visibly was coming to the same conclusion, clever as he was.

“Yes, but she wasn’t the first on the list. Her brother was. Could had she been… lured here?”

“It wouldn’t be beyond their abilities.”

“Ugh.” Jaskier pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. "The cultists need to be dealt with at once. They've been terrorising the other ghosts and, well, me. We should start by locating their bones."

"I know where they are," a small voice piped from the entrance of the basement. Jaskier turned to see the little girl from before who had warned him. Geralt followed his line of sight.

"The girl knows where their corpses are," Jaskier related to him. To the girl, he said, "Were you there when they died?"

She nodded. "My mother was one of them. She brought me here so we could be together forever, but I rarely get to play with her now."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Jaskier swallowed with difficulty. How could a parent do this to their child? His fingers bumped against Geralt's wrist and he held onto it, reassured by his slow pulse.

"It's okay. Her master forced her to do it, she told me."

"No one should suffer the consequences of their parents' actions."

"And yet," Geralt whispered.

"You're here now at least.” Her face turned into a mix of despair and stubbornness. “You'll help us."

"Of course we will. What's your name?" His sensitive side was taking a toll right now, he was empathetic to this ghost's sufferings. How many lives had been lost because of the overzealous cult? How much suffering had they caused?

"Sibilla," she giggled, smiling up at them. Geralt tensed beside him and gripped his hand.

"I heard her laugh," he said in surprise.

"What? How?"

"Because of you." He lifted their joined hands. "You're transferring some of your chaos to me."

"Well, this is convenient, if Sibilla is to show you where the cultists are." The child nodded, her body going from completely tangible to translucide but never disappearing. She had a strong hook to this inn, proof of how long she'd been here. He turned to Geralt.

"Perhaps I could make you see her as well. I don't know how, but I can certainly try. Would you be alright with that?"

Geralt nodded. "As long as you don't exhaust yourself."

Jaskier rolled his eyes. Such a mother hen. "Well then. Sibilla, if you'll give us a minute, I've never tried this before."

"That's okay, I'll wait. No one but the mister with the green fire could see me before, I like talking with you."

Jaskier had Geralt sit down at the table while he stood between his legs. He cradled his face in his hands, amazed for a second that Geralt was allowing him to do that. He didn’t seem frightened by this whole situation, Jaskier suspected being this old meant numerous similar events happening in his life. He had been on the pursuit of Stregobor for a long time too, a problem probably more prominent for the witcher.

"Are you sure?" He asked again, worrying his lip with his teeth.

"Yes."  _ I trust you, _ his eyes said. That absolutely did not put more pressure on Jaskier.

Just like he'd been interacting with the ghosts, he figured magic -chaos, whatever- was all about intention. Incantations resulted in nothing if the spellcaster didn't believe in the words.

Words came to his mind of their own devotion. "Let the veil lift from your vision. See and hear the world as I see and hear it.” He was speaking Elder, he idly realised. Something shifted and moved in him, gathered in a current that streamed from his fingers and into Geralt. The witcher exhaled and clung to him, his pupils dilating impossibly large before returning to normal. Jaskier smoothed his hands on his shoulders and stepped away, a wave of sudden exhaustion taking him.

"Did it work?" He asked Geralt, who looked around with a frown. Sibilla waved at him when he focused on her, and he hesitantly returned her gesture.

"It did. You forgot to mention the other ghost," he said, gesturing at the cook who was hovering by the hearth.

"I can’t mention all the people here all the time, there’s too many of them. Besides, Danae prefers not to be bothered." He inclined his head towards her. He didn't know how she did it, but once he started giving her some peace, on certain mornings a fresh loaf of bread would be waiting for him on the counter, still warm and soft.

"I see." Geralt scanned the rest of the kitchen, probably noting the faint shimmer nearby the door. That also was another ghost, barely conscious of themselves in the afterlife. They just were. Geralt then focused on Sibilla, yellow eyes taking in her small form. He nodded at her.

"You'll show me the way?" He asked her as he started gathering his materials. Jaskier heavily sat on the chair the witcher had just occupied, taking a deep breath. This had taken a big toll on him.

She made a small agreement noise. With a last look over his shoulder at Jaskier, Geralt followed her in the basement, closing the door behind him.

"Good luck," Jaskier softly said. It was barely noon and already he felt exhausted. He couldn't even think of taking a nap or enjoying himself right now, however, not with Geralt doing such sinister task right below his feet. He knew there was nothing he could do, but with the exhaustion settled a wave of anxiety that locked his chest in knots, making it hard to breathe. He rubbed that spot and took a deep breath, and almost jumped from his chair when the kettle whistled on the stove.

He hadn't put it on there. A look at Danae confirmed him it had been her doing. She showed him small acts of favour here and there, in that taciturn way of hers. It reminded him of someone...

"Thank you, darling." He got to his feet and made himself some black tea, drinking it by the hearth. Renovation plans and papers were scattered on the counter where he'd last left them, so he brought them to the table to work on them for a while. There was nothing for him to do to help Geralt, he could only wait, and at least he'd hear him come back.

Ordering new materials and double checking the budget ate a chunk of time. He made sure to add on the list he'd need to look for a woodworker – an actual one – to fix the posts in the lobby.

His thoughts kept swirling back to the problems at hand. He hadn't done many cleansings using bones in his life. The ghosts often had the choice to move forward but were unwilling to do so, and Jaskier happened to have high enough conversational skills to convince them it was time to move on, his go-to method. 

Other times more rigorous tools were necessary, but this was the first time he was dealing with such malevolent entities. The earlier experience with Geralt was enticing him to trust this new-found well of chaos to accompany his ability, he would do the right thing. If nothing worked he'd go to a crematorium and have the bones pulverised into ashes.

He didn’t hear anything inside the inn, it would've appeared calm to one ignorant of the paranormal. Then he heard slow footsteps above him and the small moment of peace was broken. He pushed aside his fringe and gathered the documents to deal with later. He opened the pantry to retrieve some fine salt and went up to his bedroom to put down some protections, something he should've done already. He never imagined things would come to this.

He felt better once that was done. No matter the outcome, this truly would be a safe space from now on. He didn't know many ways to use his chaos, but that protection spell had instinctively come to him when he went to university and was assailed by not only the living students, but also the dead ones lingering in the dorms. Nothing worse than being the focus of a barely legal adult frozen in time with their aspiring dreams lost forever.

Uh, this could make for a good song. He pulled his notebook from his nightstand, remembering with a fond smile the previous time the drawing had been opened, and wrote the lyric down. Perhaps it was time for him to start sharing some of his personal story, in a very imaged and exaggerated way of course.

By the time he heard commotion coming from the ground floor, he had a few more lines and was starting on the melody, but he quickly dropped everything and rushed downstairs.

"Everything went per the plan?"

Geralt was stepping out of the basement when he stepped in the kitchen, happy to see he was still in one piece with his clothes sporting some dirt. There was a wild look in his eyes.

"More or less. This ability of yours is dizzying," Geralt replied and lifted the heavy-looking bag he was carrying. "The bones." He passed them to Jaskier who kept them as far away from his body as he could.

"Thank you. Were they difficult to locate?"

"No. With your ability, my witcher senses and Sibilla's help, it was easier than I expected."

“I’m glad. By dizzying, do you mean all the ghosts downstairs? I only was aware of few during our short stay, but I’m guessing it must’ve been awful for you.”

“Their presences were deafening. I could almost taste their misery. It’s almost worn out now though, I’m…” Geralt put his bag on the table and removed his sword from his back to put it down as well. “I can’t imagine how you manage to live like this every day.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t have much of a choice now, do I? I'll go and put those outside while you go clean up."

Only when he went to exit the kitchen after opening the door, the bag was yanked from his grasp. It didn't open, fortunately, but it landed with a heavy thud on the wood floor.

"Wha—?" Jaskier frowned and cussed as the bag started to get dragged by an invisible force. He strode and took a hold of it. "Stop it."

"My medallion's vibrating," Geralt said as he inspected their surroundings. There was nothing suspicious that Jaskier could feel other than the bag.

"The cultists' doing, I'm sure. They're protecting their corpses." Jaskier yanked back and used the momentum to throw the bag outside. It sat outside, unmoving. "They'll lose their hold on the physical sphere without them."

He didn't like leaving the bag out in the open, but this was a temporary solution. Not many people walked by anyway. He'd have to buy some more salt, he idly thought to himself as he made a protection circle around the bag. Perhaps there was a magical way to get rid of them, he'd have to ask Yennefer and Triss next time.

"Ugh. Has it settled?" He asked Geralt on his return inside. He was washing his hands and forearms in the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was a very good look on him.

"For the moment. I doubt they truly left, not with the temple still being functional."

"Mphm." Jaskier leaned against his back and rested his cheek on his shoulder blade, loosely embracing him. "And did you pick on any scent?"

Geralt hummed. "I did. Stregobor had a hand in the cult. I think he's the one who summoned the Koschey."

"That's quite frightening."

Geralt dried his hands and turned in his embrace. He cupped his face and kissed his forehead. "Nothing we can't deal with."

"You're awfully positive. Where has the brooding man gone?"

Geralt's eyes turned fond and heated as he licked his lips. Jaskier, not accustomed to that expression coming from him, could only stare back. It helped Geralt hadn't let go of him, for he suddenly felt faint.

"Come with me at my house for the night, I'll show you," he suggested, making his intention clear. Jaskier feigned hesitating.

"I don't know, I have so much to do here, many ghosts to haunt me still."

Geralt huffed and kissed him soundly on the mouth, then much more softly. Jaskier leaned into him with a hum and kissed him back with the same tenderness, fingers catching on the straps crossing his chest. Geralt's dipped into his hair as he flickered his tongue on his top lip, then pushed it between Jaskier's teeth, a quick touch that sent a shiver down his spine with  _ want _ . Heat rose on his face as he sought back Geralt's mouth for himself, breathless and dizzy with his delicious taste. Geralt made a soft sound and tilted his head so their lips could touch better, always better.

Someone cleared their throat nearby and made Jaskier spring back from Geralt. For a second he imagined himself back at his parents' estate, caught red-handed making out with some boy in what he thought to be a private enough corner. But no, this was the cook who didn't look impressed. Jaskier rubbed his tingly lips together, not feeling ashamed whatsoever. Geralt was staring down at the ghost, one would say petulantly.

"Right. Let me go pack a bag," Jaskier smiled and was off. When he looked over his shoulder, Geralt was looking at him go, which made him break in laughter. Again, Geralt didn't look sorry at all and gave him a lopsided smile, crossing his arms and not budging from his spot. Jaskier didn't mind the attention at all after yearning for it. Being openly admired by the person he loved felt overpowering, and that way he had an excuse to return the favour. Thinking about having Geralt naked pressed against him once again was enough to make him grow hot and hurry up the stairs.

Their blossoming romance was a welcomed respite from the otherwise dreadful events, and Jaskier was willing to lose himself in it still for a little while. Geralt had invited him at his house for the first time, after all, in part to protect him and another to be with him, Jaskier hoped. With the way he'd been kissing him right then, he was confident to presume so.

He quickly filled a travel bag with essentials and a change of clothes, not bothering with pyjamas. He had every intention to cuddle naked under the blankets with Geralt, wrapped in those big arms of his.

"Ready, darling," he claimed as he made it back to the ground floor. Geralt was fussing with a crate from the basement, pulling apart one of the sides. "What are you doing with this?"

"To put over the bones outside. They'll be better hidden and it’ll keep the circle protected."

"Oh, that's clever."

The walk was fairly short from the inn, which made Jaskier wonder Roach was getting any exercise. Was Geralt bringing her on excursions outside town often? Would he mind bringing Jaskier once with him? The idea of having a sore ass and thighs after tenacious activity was usually for something more intimate, but he found that if it involved Geralt, he didn't mind much. It’d be wonderful to ride the beach with him, look at the ocean pressed up together, he could convince Geralt to massage him afterward... Oof, presumptions.

"You're quiet, that's rare," Geralt said, interrupting his daydreaming of forest rides and ass massages.

"I'm looking forward to see where you live. I'm just thinking about everything we can do in your house."

"I'm sure you are. It's nothing fancy, I don't have the grandiose tendencies than you have."

"Few do in this small town. I would've expected nothing else of you, darling. I'm simply looking forward to spend time in your space."

Geralt hummed. In the golden rays of the lowering sun, he appeared otherworldly. He didn't seem to be from this era, with his armour and the sword he was hand carrying. The other town folks they were encountering didn't even bat an eye, clearly used to Geralt's odd attire.

Geralt bifurcated on a well-worn path away from the street leading to a modest house, clean with a stable on the side where Roach was munching hay. Geralt greeted her with a softness he rarely showed and Jaskier refrained from giggling at how adorable that was. 

Looking at it, Jaskier would say that stable was better maintained than the house. The paint on the latter was flaking on a few spots and the steps wobbled underneath them when they walked up to the porch. With the amount of renovations Geralt had been doing lately for the inn, Jaskier doubted he was in the mood to repaint his house right now.

He followed him inside and took a moment to take it all in, his nose full of Geralt's scent; firewood smoke and something tangy, probably caused by whatever was brewing over the open hearth in the kitchen Geralt led him to, and leathery. Jaskier enjoyed that combination.

"This is cozy," he commented. "I see you've been practicing woodworking." In the corner of the dining area was remnants of a dresser, or so Jaskier assumed so. There wasn't much left of it.

Geralt hurried to pick up the main pieces and disappeared deeper into the house. "I'll take these out," his voice rang throughout the small hall. Jaskier peeked into it and saw him throw his load outside by the rear entrance. "I was trying to get better. I instead destroyed some unlucky furniture."

"At least you tried. What are you brewing over here? I reckon it's not soup."

"It's not. I don't recommend drinking it either. It's a potion for me, helps to resist and neutralise poison. It's called Golden Oriole."

"A pretty name." Jaskier peeked down at the amber liquid. "It smells very alcohol-y."

"There's dwarven spirit in it, that's why."

"So you're truly getting drunk to numb the pain."

Geralt laughed. "Come on, I'll show you the bedroom."

"Ooh, yes please."

His house wasn't anything fancy, like he'd claimed, but it was full of personality. Everywhere he looked, Jaskier could see glimpses of Geralt's life through his trinkets, decorations and furniture. The bedroom was simple and clean, nothing littered the floor unlike Jaskier's room. Instead there were a few armour stands, one of them empty but the others equipped with intricate pieces Jaskier investigated from closer.

"This one doesn't seem your style," he commented about one that was more form fitting.

"When I require more stealth."

"Was it the one you wore whenever you chased down monsters in the inn at night?" By the look on Geralt's face, Jaskier knew he wasn't supposed to remember. "You didn't know at the time I wasn't entirely human, that your magic wouldn't affect me the same way."

"I didn't know how else to keep you safe. I thought that had you known, you would've put yourself in danger."

"I figured that one out, with your carpenter persona." Jaskier put his bag on a chair and inspected some of the weapons up close. "You have an impressive crossbow collection."

"Mm. They're useful for flying or fast monsters. The models are regularly improved." He pointed to one of the smaller ones, the wood well-worn and scratched. "Vesemir, my mentor, gave me my first one. Each time I use the firearm, it reminds me of him."

"Oh. He must've been a great man."

"He was. He raised me up with other wolves and died protecting Ciri. She's my—"

A knock at the front door interrupted him.

"It's probably Yen, she might'vee made some progress already."

Jaskier watched from the hallway Geralt go to the door and open it. It wasn't Yennefer.

The woman had hair just as white as Geralt's, a scar over an eye and a peculiar outfit on. "Hi dad," she said with a beaming smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines Jaskier sings are from Billie Eilish’s “Come out and Play”.  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaptainMarianna)!


	5. The Witching Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Graphic description of violence and body horror, I'd say it's canon-typical but I'd rather warn you just in case.  
> This chapter is also my entry for the Geraskier Kink Bingo free space "Titfuck"

"Ciri, what—" Geralt engulfed the woman in his arms, hugging her fiercely. "I thought you were time exploring."

"I was. Then mum sent me a message about you needing help."

Jaskier, who had taken this all in - _ time exploring?- _ cleared his throat. "You might've been the secret weapon Yennefer mentioned."

Ciri raised her head from where it'd been leaning on Geralt's shoulder and noticed him. Jaskier didn't blame her, half-hidden in the dark as he was and Geralt being… Geralt. Very imposing. "I guess I am. Hi, you must be Jaskier."

"Hello. Geralt was just talking to me about you." He gave him a meaningful look. "It's a joy to meet you." He approached and was graced with a hug. Oh, this was nice. He could feel there was something odd with her though, Jaskier sensed something otherworldly in her. Was she truly Geralt’s daughter? She was just as beautiful as him, that was for certain.

"So how long did you believe he was a carpenter for?" She joked with a glint in her eye that made him like her already. He laughed as Geralt shook his head in dismay.

"About an hour. I let it pass because of his good looks."

They returned to the kitchen where Jaskier made himself at home and prepared them some tea, fumbling through the drawers to retrieve biscuits as well. He found the ones he usually served to Geralt at the inn.

"I'm not staying long, I brought back some stuff I want to show mum and Triss," Ciri said as she sat down on a creaking chair. She was wearing trousers, was what Jaskier realised was throwing him off about her appearance. Women rarely wore trousers in public, at least to his knowledge, even less so made of leather. Her button-up shirt that felt soft like silk and was a bright lilac colour, opened at the collar to reveal her pale neckline.

"And I wouldn't be interested by this  _ stuff _ ?" Geralt frowned. He tugged on Jaskier's wrist to have him sit on the chair beside his and stop fidgeting. He couldn’t help but be nervous to meet this daughter that he'd never heard Geralt mention before.

Jaskier listened to them catch up without interfering much, happy to soak up in Geralt’s happiness about seeing her daughter in however how long. From his understanding, Ciri was not only able to teleport herself to a different location, but also through time. He tried in vain not to be intimidated and feel out of place by that, especially when she was talking about flying vehicles and body modifications to improve both physical and mental traits beyond human limits.

Geralt was taking the new information well. He’d seen technologies change often enough, after all, and would probably live to see those  _ cyborgs _ .

Jaskier bit his lip and ate his biscuit, then excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he came back, Ciri was gone and Geralt was rinsing their cups.

“Ciri left already?” He said, confused. “But you had so much to catch on.”

“We’ll have time later.” He faced him and leaned against the counter to cross his arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention her sooner. Ciri is not my biological child, but she is my daughter in every other aspect. Yennefer and I raised her and protected her since she was a child for her lineage. It's second nature now for me to want to keep her safe, and then there never seemed to be a good occasion to mention her."

“Oh." Jaskier wriggled his hands together. "I understand. We've only known each other for a few months now, it's normal that you wouldn't share everything with me right away. You don't know everything about me either."

"But I want to." Geralt stepped closer to take his hands, face honest.. “Pretending to be a carpenter to keep an eye on the inn and you wasn’t my most articulated plan, but I’m thankful it allowed me to get to know you. I appreciate how open you are about your feelings and how creative you are. I feel whole when I'm with you."

Such confession was nothing like him; the raw, almost timid, look either. Jaskier sighed and tugged him closer until their chests were pressed together. He sometimes forgot he was about the same height as the other man, used to making himself look smaller, but now they stood eye to eye. "And you said you weren't proficient with words. I really like you too, though my affection for you has never been a secret."

Geralt kissed him and prevented him from elaborating, his mouth insistent. "Come to bed with me."

"Happily so."

Somehow they found themselves naked on the bed, kissing and touching. Jaskier had Geralt underneath him, his hands roaming over muscular arms and down ticklish ribs. He made that discovery when Geralt suddenly giggled, as surprised as Jaskier.

"Did you just—?"

"Shut up. It's a sensitive area."

"I see." Jaskier slid down his beautiful body, his belly resting over Geralt's groin. He pressed kisses on his ribs as he massaged his pectorals and rubbed his nipples. "How's that?" 

"Good."

"Hmm." Jaskier's kisses became sloppier as he sucked on the taunt skin, making a path to the closest nipple he lapped and lightly teased with his teeth. Geralt groaned and silently asked for more with a hand against Jaskier's neck. Jaskier spent some time bringing colours to his tits. Biting into them made Geralt's hips stutter and buckle up hard enough to lift Jaskier and make him tumble forward. Geralt caught him and rolled them in the mattress. When he straightened to sit in Jaskier's lap, the latter could see his artwork on his gorgeous tits, the bruises and bite marks lovingly contrasting with his pale skin.

"Was that too much?" Jaskier settled his hands on Geralt's taunt thighs and played with the hairs there. It was his turn to jerk in surprise when Geralt didn't lose time to wrap a broad hand around his half-hard cock, only the witcher didn't budge at the sudden movement.

"Not enough. I've been thinking about riding you for most of the day, my patience is running thin."

" _ Ooh. _ But you like me marking you?"

Geralt nodded and groped his own pectoral with a grin. He sighed, his cock twitching and getting harder before Jaskier's eyes. "People usually aren't interested in these, more about my dick or my ass."

"Fools, the lot of them. All of you deserve attention. Ngh, that feels good." Jaskier bit his lip, blood rushing south at the way Geralt was stroking him. It wasn't the same angle or rhythm he indulged on himself, the callouses different and the rhythm just on the right side of rough. Geralt leaned down and imitated him by licking his nipple and bringing his warm mouth around it, sucking tentatively. Jaskier whined.

"Oh," Geralt breathed and did the same to his other nipple, his cock trailing precum on Jaskier's skin. His long hair tickled him with his movements, feathery light and raising goosebumps all over him. "You like that too."

"Uh-huh," Jaskier stroked his hair. "You mentioned something about riding me?"

Geralt grinned and reached for a vial on the nightstand. The liquid in it sloshed more viscously than regular oil, and for a moment, Jaskier imagined Geralt brewing his own lubricant. He didn't dare imagine where he found such recipe.

"Prepare yourself for me? I want to watch you touch yourself," Jaskier said when he was offered the vial. Geralt kissed him deeply, his tongue curling behind his teeth, and then he was turning away to present him his muscular backside. "Beautiful." He smacked it for the form. That hurt his hand, but the way his ass jiggled was worth it.

Geralt arched his back and reached behind to press his index and middle finger against the tight ring of muscle, bracing his other hand on Jaskier's knee. He wasn't gentle with himself and slid the two fingers at once, roughly fucking himself. Jaskier could barely see his expression with his disheveled hair but his small grunts of pleasure were enough. Geralt enjoyed more tenacious fucking, he concluded, or at least he was too impatient to properly stretch himself.

"Careful, love. There's no rush tonight."

"I can take it."

"It doesn't mean that you should." Jaskier half sat up and placed a wet kiss on the curve of an ass cheek, barely refraining from biting it. Another time. He massaged his perineum with a firm pressure and cupped his heavy balls, gently palming them. Geralt moaned and spread his legs further apart to reach deeper in himself, now with three fingers. Jaskier chimed him and teased his stretched hole with his manicured nail.

"So pretty."

Geralt turned around on his lap. He slathered oil on Jaskier's cock, then he was pushing Jaskier back on the mattress. "Not pretty," he growled as he descended on him, sinking down on his cock. He was warm and soft and so fucking tight. Jaskier gasped and groaned and grasped his thighs for dear life, Geralt wasting no time in bottoming out. He sat flushed on his lap and planted his palm down on the middle of Jaskier's chest, fingers splayed wide, to start hauling himself back up and down again. 

"F _ uuuck _ ," Jaskier whined and held onto his wrist, unable to do anything but watch Geralt fuck himself on his cock, the bed creaking with every thrust. Sweat pearled on Geralt’s chest, gathered between their bodies, made things more slippery. Jaskier was  _ burning _ . "Come here at least." He took a fistful of Geralt's thick hair and brought him down to crash their mouths together, teeth and tongues involved in a filthy resemblance of what was happening down. He pulled harder on his hair and Geralt moaned at that, a detail Jaskier didn't miss. 

Geralt shifted and leaned back to hold onto Jaskier's shins to start bouncing on him, relentless. How he could keep up was beyond Jaskier, but he was nowhere near complaining. He wrapped his hand around Geralt's thick cock and spread his precum all over his shaft, letting him fuck his fist just as he was stroking him.

"That's it," Geralt panted. He locked eyes with Jaskier and came all over Jaskier's chest and neck, his hole quivering around him. It was quite sudden and Jaskier forgot about himself at the sight, milked him dry until Geralt shivered and leaned forward on his forearms, mindless of the mess, to give him a long kiss, humming contently. Jaskier's cock throbbed inside him, ready for release, but then Geralt had him slip out of him to crash on his back beside him.

"Come here, love," he grunted, licking his lips.

"How do you want me?"

"Get on my chest. Yeah, like that. You said you like these?" Geralt grabbed his own pecs and squeezed them, and Jaskier had an idea of where he was going with this.

"Love them. You're letting me fuck them?"

Geralt nodded. Jaskier made a small noise and slid his oiled cock on the cleft. He poured some more oil on him and started fucking his tits. His pectorals were firm but still supple, with enough give to make a crevice for his cock to thrust in, and Geralt’s fingers made up for the rest. Geralt leaned his head up and stretched his tongue and slurped on his head whenever he was thrusting forward, mixing in his saliva.

Jaskier tried to keep it together for a little longer, just enough to enjoy some more the erotic sight of his cock going back and forth between Geralt's pecs, but then Geralt had to start making those satisfied noises, almost like purr, at the back of his throat, and that was Jaskier’s undoing.

He came with a breathless moan, his cum landing on Geralt's tongue and in his opened mouth, painting his face and neck beautifully. "Ooh, fuck. Look at you..." He shivered with the last wave of his orgasm, thighs shaking and knees protesting. “Covered in my cum. You look good like this, darling.”

Geralt swallowed his mouthful and sought out the cum that landed close, licking that as well. Jaskier gathered what he could with his fingers and fed it to him, heart hammering at how Geralt sucked them to make sure they were completely clean, never breaking eye contact.

Jaskier carefully dislodged himself and heavily landed beside him with a huff, stretching and a few articulations popping. Geralt got up and returned a moment later with a damp cloth he gently cleaned Jaskier with, having cleaned himself. He then laid down and pulled Jaskier to his side, wrapping a thick arm around him. Jaskier rested his cheek on a pectoral he'd just fucked, the passing thought thrilling, and smoothed his hand down Geralt's stomach.

"We should do that again," Geralt said, his voice rumbling against Jaskier's ear.

"That and many more things. I like cuddling with you too, you're so warm."

Geralt hummed and dropped a kiss on his forehead. Jaskier basked in the moment, dozing. He last woke up with Geralt shifting to pull the cover over them, the room now much more chilly without tenacious activities to warm it up.

"What time is it?" Jaskier mumbled in his neck, swallowing down his saliva. Thankfully he hadn't drooled on Geralt.

"Quarter to seven."

"Oh, you must be famished. I'm hungry myself."

Geralt made an affirmative sound but didn’t budge. "I don't mind staying in bed longer," he said, holding him like he could go away at any moment. Jaskier lingered a kiss on his pulse point, so slow against his lips, and shifted his thigh in between Geralt's legs. Geralt liked cuddling just as much as Jaskier did, the both of them in dire need of physical contact. 

"You know, I'm glad you have close friends in Rosemerrow who appreciate you," Jaskier slowly said, moving his head so he could speak more directly in Geralt's ear. "And you have a daughter who clearly loves you as much as you love her.” He sighed and lightly trailed his fingers down a muscular arm. “I have this unexpected feeling that I've known you for a long time, when in reality it’s only been a matter of months. When I think of the time you might’ve spent alone following that Path of yours, it makes me sad. It’s silly but if there was a way for me to stay with you longer, I'd do it."

He knew this was a lot of honesty so early in their relationship. Jaskier wasn't sure if he'd be courageous enough to share his feelings had it not been Damocles’ sword hanging over their heads. 

He swallowed and suddenly pulled himself up, turning away to get up from the bed, but Geralt trapped him in his arms before he could do so, his warm lips trailing over his shoulder blade. "You're kind and compassionate, Jaskier. I wouldn't burden you with eternal life because I too love you very much."

Jaskier set his hands on Geralt's and squeezed, smiling to himself at the confession. "Is it really that bad?"

"In concept, it seems splendid, doesn't it? That's why so many seek it. But it's lonesome and cruel. For centuries I had nothing but the Path, killing monsters and not living among the people I was protecting, unwilling to grow attached to mortals."

"Is this what comes to your mind about me?"

Geralt sighed and settled more comfortably against Jaskier's back. "For a time, I considered humans' affairs too ephemeral to bother participating in them. Why cause myself such distress for situations that I knew would be temporary? But then I realised, forever apprehending the end was no way to live. There's people who are worth knowing. The pain is worth it."

Jaskier didn't know what to say at that. His heart hurt at the notion Geralt had suffered so much for so long. Immortality seemed hollow indeed without connections. He blinked away the tears threatening to fall and instead picked up Geralt's hand to kiss his knuckles. "Thank you, for telling me."

Later, during their meal, another question came to his mind. "Just how many Roach did you ever have?"

The next day saw them back at the inn with the three women. Jaskier had them sit in the drawing room where, with the addition of the new furniture and decorations, it was one of the first rooms to be completely renovated. Jaskier was curled in a plush armchair and was listening to Yennefer explain the new weapon they'd made; a bomb that would explode in silver fragments when detonated, especially effective from inside the monster. Its shell was tenacious but the center was flesh-like. Another weapon was salt acid vials, a highly corrosive component that wasn’t available last time Geralt had fought the monster. 

Jaskier didn't feel particularly invested in the conversation but it gave him the opportunity to observe Ciri. She looked like a young adult, barely a wrinkle on her face, but her eyes told another story. She was wearing different clothes than the previous day, still as odd-looking. Geralt had explained to him she had been in a futuristic world until recently, which might explain her different speech pattern.

"There's definitely a lot of chaos at play here, I felt it as soon as we entered," Yennefer was saying. "We're sitting on a source the cult exploited to do their biddings. We can destroy traces of the cult and it will balance out the chaos to its natural order. Jaskier, have you felt a difference since moving in?"

Jaskier frowned, taken aback by suddenly being the center of the attention. Normally he'd bask in it, but this crowd was frightening. "A difference? I see ghosts everywhere, but I’d say the ones here are more tangible, stronger than the average."

Ciri continued to study him while the others resumed their conversation, and he gave her a small smile. Something otherworldly clung to her, phantom fingers stroking her shoulders and neck without her noticing. Ghosts weren't always other people, they could be demons of one's own making clinging to their leg, like a boulder. Jaskier often saw the psychic energy of their self-destruction, couldn't help seeing them, but it still didn't feel right.

"So it's being partly elf that gives you your ability, right?" Ciri asked him without prompting, and he blinked back out of his reverie.

"That's correct, a small portion of my heritage."

"You said one of the previous owner who was killed was also partly elf?" When he nodded, she continued. "And she was lured here?"

"That was my conclusion after talking with her, yes."

"Alright, okay. And how did you come to know about the inn, exactly? Dad said you're from London, but you traveled a lot too?"

Jaskier was starting to see where she was going with this. He pianoted his fingers on the arm of his chair, thinking it over. It hadn't been this long ago, in perspective, and yet it felt like years had passed. "Let's see, I was visiting a friend in Frankfurt. Well, not really a friend, more like an acquaintance. I made a lot of those as a bard and chronicler, but Renfri had left an impression and she invited me to her cottage. She's the one who told me about a contact in England who was looking to sell his property for a ridiculously low amount. I'm quite impulsive and thus jumped on the opportunity."

"Renfri?" Geralt made a small pained sound, alarming Jaskier. 

"Renfri von Creyden, yes." Jaskier made his way on the other side of the couches to perch himself on the arm beside Geralt. He placed his hand on his shoulder. "Do you know her?"

"It could be a different Renfri, Geralt," Triss gently said.

"Coincidences don't exist," Geralt groaned. "I can't believe he—Jaskier, what was the contact's name?"

"Renfri's stepfather and a real asshole for scamming me. Irion something"

"A real asshole," Ciri nodded, face grim. In fact, all their faces wore the same expression.

"What, you also know him?"

"Irion is one of Stregobor's nicknames. He lured you here as well," Yennefer explained, shaking her head.

"Oh.  _ Oh _ ." Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek. He could be dead right now, his ability harvested for whatever scheme Stregobor was doing. From what he knew of the man, his quest was an eternal thirst for power. "You said another Renfri? What happened to the first one?"

Yennefer's face took a grim expression while Ciri gripped Geralt's hand, and Jaskier suddenly felt like an asshole for asking. But when Geralt looked at him, he wasn't angry or sad, but instead guilt had him quickly turn his eyes downwards. "I had to kill her, a long time ago, not of my own choice. Either Stregobor reanimated her or gave one of his children her name."

"Stregobor's been fucking with dad for centuries, Jaskier. He's a monster who won't stay dead."

Jaskier nodded, slowly breathing out of his nose. "I'm sorry, for asking. I'll help you get rid of him with the little of my abilities."

"You couldn't have known." Geralt shook his head.

"Your abilities are more than you think, your use of them are simply still in a raw state. No one ever taught you how to use them," Yennefer said.

"There's some books you ought to read, dear, and we'd be willing to teach you, albeit ghost sighting is an unique talent of yours."

"I'm sure I could pinch in, I too have unique powers of my own," Ciri added.

Jaskier didn't know what to say. He never expected... this. To be accepted and welcomed. These people looked terrifying at first glance, but he knew kindness and generosity hid under their impassive expression–and breathtaking beauty.

Geralt sensed his turmoil, for he grumbled "Come here" before dropping a sloppy kiss on his cheek that made him puff in laughter and wipe himself. "It's too early for sentiments."

Ciri laughed. "Of course." She was looking at them fondly however, and winked at Jaskier when he met her eyes.

"Thank you, all of you. This is more than I expected when I moved here, I thought I'd have to hide my true self to be welcomed, but I'm realising this won't be the case at all, with you around," Jaskier managed to say after clearing his throat.

"Oh my God, now you'll make me cry. Let me hug you." Ciri came around the couch to give him a warm hug that Jaskier willingly returned, some of his stress lifting off his shoulders.

"I suggest we go now to kill the Koschey," Triss said. "Monsters as big as this wouldn't be roaming the streets during the day, it must be in the catacombs."

Jaskier went up to his room while the others were gathering their supplies and getting ready. He took a second to breathe and get over his overwhelming flow of emotions. He was anxious and scared of what would happen down below, which was silly because those were powerful persons he was with. There was no doubt that, no matter the strategy, they would  succeed . 

Sibilla was still in the basement when they went downstairs. She assessed the group, particularly the women. "They're pretty. I wish I could look like them."

"You're just as pretty," Jaskier reassured her with a smile. "Now, I suggest you don't go down with us, it'll be dangerous."

"But I'm already dead."

"Indeed, but I don't want you to see."

She pouted but agreed. "Alright, but please give me details on the way back."

"Oh-oh I plan on making a whole song out of this, little one."

He adjusted his satchel so it wouldn't get in the way and realised everyone was focused on him. "Oh, sorry. Sibilla is here."

Yennefer lifted an eyebrow and swept the place where the little girl stood. "Interesting. Can you hold normal conversations with most of the ghosts?"

"No, not many are conscious of their situation, even less with the ability to carry a linear string of thoughts."

"And this Sibilla is right here?" Triss hovered her hand around.

"Your hand's in her arm."

Triss titled her head as she studied the spot. Jaskier nearly missed Geralt slowly shaking his head.

"Can this wait for later? You'll have plenty of time to discuss then."

"Right. Down the hole we go." Jaskier opened the trap but Geralt was the first one to climb down, to "make sure it was safe." They all huffed but indulged him.

"He's overprotective, that's never changed," Ciri sighed and patted Jaskier's arm. "Now he's your problem though."

Jaskier put his hand over hers as he snorted. "Nothing I can't handle, my dear. Remind me to tell you how we met."

They all ended up in the cave, Ciri zooming on the altar. Triss did something with her hands and suddenly, the room was lit up by torches burning with green fire, giving the atmosphere a sinister edge. Jaskier idly thought this would probably be an excellent penny dreadful, had he not been one of the protagonists of the story.

Geralt was investigating the ground, the evidence invisible to Jaskier. The witcher seemed to pick on something, and he straightened up.

"Its scent is faint, but I can still track it."

"Do you think this cave system is big?" Ciri asked.

"We think it runs all over town. This cave is of natural occurring, but the cult might've dug tunnels to extend the system."

"That's... clever," Jaskier sighed. He was spotting ghosts all around them, curious of them. There was a lot of them and their pain and misery was overwhelming him, so he started walking further down, the path illuminated with more green torches. "Come on, let's not waste more time."

His fingers were absolutely frozen, and he rubbed his hands together to warm them up, knowing the problem was of a paranormal nature. He didn't think it would affect him so, but then again, he'd never seen so many ghosts at once.

Another hand caught his, warm and comforting. "I hear your heart beating fast. Is there a lot of them?" Geralt inquired. Jaskier could only nod.

"They killed so many people here and forced them to watch them kill some more." Jaskier squeezed his hand and looked at Geralt. "I'll have a cry later. It's okay." He pecked his cheek. "Thank you for worrying though."

Sadly Geralt needed both his hands to follow the tracks. Jaskier hugged himself instead and walked beside Yennefer in silence. The tunnels were scary-looking with the green fire elongating shadows and dizzying him. He could sense the energy coming off the sorcerer though, soothing him in an odd way. Perhaps his chaos was recognising a peer or stealing some of hers. But there was more chance she had a spell on him, he suspected after she took a look at him and muttered something under her breath.

"What is it that you're doing?" He asked her.

"Calming your nerves. It was distracting me."

"Oh, apologies that my mortal troubles are annoying you. Could I learn to do that?"

"Possibly. It will depend of your willingness to learn."

That wasn't really an answer. Jaskier was starting to see she enjoyed messing with him. He'd ask Triss later. He focused on not stumbling on a rock as they followed Geralt deeper in the catacombs. He didn't know how long they walked, but he knew they were making their way deeper in the earth. That wouldn't be fun to walk back.

Geralt raised his arm to make them stop near the opening of another cave chamber. He didn't need to tell them they'd reached the monster, Jaskier could hear it scutter around, the ground vibrating. It sounded huge.

He turned to Yennefer and motioned to his own head. He'd mentioned something about Yennefer able to read minds before. Whatever he was telling her, her expression darkened as she nodded.

_ Stregobor is with the monster, _ her voice resonated in his head. It complicated things. Geralt slid his silver sword out of its sheath and advanced in the cave.

"Stregobor," he loudly called him. "Us meeting again is getting old."

The sorcerers and Ciri followed Geralt inside. Jaskier… hesitated. The energy emanating from the room was making him oversensitive already, limbs tingling unpleasantly. He shook his head and closed the march. The chamber was larger than the entrance one. It was fitting that it was the beast's lair. More skeletons laid in a messy pile beside a rough-looking nest, some bones gnawed on. Gross.

The sorcerer was standing on a higher stone platform, fiddling with something on an altar smaller than the other one. Jaskier couldn't see what exactly he was doing, but judging by the monster standing right below him, it was nothing good. Two cultist ghosts flanked him. Could Stregobor see them as well, or did they provide invisible assistance?

"Witcher. Still acting like a dog following a scent."

"And you're still acting like a greedy arsehole," Geralt growled back. "Willing to destroy entire towns for your pompous schemes of power."

"So you keep telling me. I see you brought your compatriots. We finally meet, Julian."

"Jaskier will do." From the corner of his eye, he could see both the sorceresses' hands glow as they gathered their magic.

"Right, your mother told me that's how you went by now. Partly elf and able of mediumship."

He’d visited his parents? It had to have been before he acquired the inn, but they had made no mention of him during his last stay. He didn't hold much love for them anymore, but he didn't wish them harm. He took a step forward, suddenly filled with rage rather than fear. "How dare you—"

A flash, a zap sound like thunder, interrupted him, and when he looked beside him, Ciri wasn't there anymore. Another flash and she was standing behind Stregobor, coming forward with her sword raised. Stregobor turned just in time to dodge her and shouted something. The monster suddenly raised on its legs and turned around. 

Oh, it was huge.

"Jas, get back," Yennefer told him, shoving him behind her. It would've almost been touching If she hadn't muttering something akin to "getting in my way" afterwards. Jaskier backed off until he reached the brittle wall. He pressed himself as close to it as he could and watched with a mix of fear and awe Geralt fluidly move in between the Koschey's legs and slash its softer joints. It stopped it but for a moment. Ciri was busy fighting the sorcerer, flashes of magic sparkling between them. Triss kneeled in the middle of the chamber to push her fingers into the dirt, chanting a spell in Elder speech. Vines emerged from around the monster and wrapped themselves around its legs, trapping it there.

It immediately started struggling to free itself, which gave a long enough moment to Geralt to aim his crossbow and shoot it in the head. The bolt exploded on impact and the beast shrieked. 

Yennefer had managed to make her way around it to shoot magic beams at Stregobor’s back. They bounced back and hit the ceiling instead, rocks falling down and almost crushing Triss. She moved out of the way in time but it broke her concentration. The Koshchey easily broke the vines and slashed its pincers in Geralt’s direction, effectively pining him down. Fuck.

Jaskier shoved his hand in his satchel to retrieve one of the few silver bombs the mages had provided him with. He made his way closer, fumbling to lit the fuse at the same time, and rolled it under the monster before running away.

“Geralt, quen,” he shouted at him. He threw a look behind him to see Geralt roll away, already coated golden. The bomb exploded, shaking the floor. The monster barely budged, but brought its attention on Jaskier.

It shrieked again and hurried to him, intending to impale him on its pincers. Jaskier barely dodged in time and they hit the wall instead. He zigzagged between its legs to get away. Its skin was hard and cold, and Jaskier shivered with a mix of fright and disgust. 

Geralt was right there, hair askew but uninjured. He was rearming his crossbow with another bolt. “Be careful, love,” Jaskier told him in passing to find a more secure area. Geralt hummed, a wild look in his eyes, and raised the weapon just as a series of firebolts fell on the Koshchey, searing its skin. His bolt hit it in the side. Geralt quickly followed with a vial of salt acid that sizzled as it started dissolving the carapace. It would take more than one vial for the acid to make its way through. Geralt and Triss continued attacking the monster together, the magic so thick in the air it made the hairs raise on the back of Jaskier’s neck.

He wasn’t sure how he could help, so he turned to the two women fighting Stregobor. The old man was holding his own with a magical shield and a large scythe he’d made out of his staff, counterattacking with spells and the weapon. It sat taller than him and came very close to hit Ciri until she magically stepped away. She countered with electricity sizzling his shield and charged him. Her sword pierced through and took down the shield, but Stregobor blocked her and let himself fall from the platform… directly in front of Jaskier. 

“If it hadn’t been for you,” Stregobor boomed and attacked him with his scythe. Jaskier had the instinct to raise both his arms to block the blow, the blade only slashing his forearms. They immediately started to sting while he strained to keep the weapon away from him. He was no fighter, never had been, and it was proving to be a losing battle already. He searched frantically about what to do and could only think of the bombs in his satchel. If he could…. 

He pivoted and pushed the scythe away from him. Stregobor hadn’t put his whole weight forward so it didn’t balance him out, but it was enough for Jaskier to retrieve a bomb. The fuse lit up by itself and he didn’t think much about it as he threw it at the mage’s feet. 

Stregobor scoffed and crushed it before it could explode. “Did you really think—” 

A sword pierced through his chest, and they both looked down at it. The blade twisted and slid up to cut Stregobor in half from the sternum up, Ciri’s eyes glowing as they met Jaskier’s.

“Couldn’t stop that, could you?”

Warm blood dropped from Jaskier’s fingertips and pooled at his feet as he watched the mage stumble back, his brain exposed. He distantly could hear the others fight the Koshchey behind him, but all he could think was,  _ he’s not dead. _

The two sides of his body were slowly starting to merge back together, the sight frankly disgusting. Jaskier never wanted to see the inside of someone like this ever again. Ciri stepped around to join him. 

“He’s immortal, only magic can kill him. Get away while he’s still recovering.”

Jaskier could only nod, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He started to back away, but behind him stood the monster. There was nowhere to go. 

Stregobor grunted and opened his eyes.

“Nice try, little Ciri." And with a swipe of his hand, he hurled them across the chamber. Time slowed down as Jaskier’s body was flung back, and he turned to look at Ciri who was reaching for him. He reached back.

A flash, and he made impact with the ground. He wheezed, the air pushed out of his lungs. His mind put together Ciri had teleported them to land at a secure distance rather than at a deadly result. It still hurt so much he feared for a second he'd broken his back. Ciri jumped to her feet and hauled him up, quickly checked his head for injuries. Reassured he was fine, she patted his cheek and blinked away, back to Stregobor. She'd brought them on a secluded area of the cave. From there Jaskier could see Geralt, Triss and Yennefer were coming about to kill the Koshchey. It was roughened up, the ground wet with tar-like blood.

Yet Stregobor was still fighting Ciri with vigour, unimpressed at her range of abilities. Well, Jaskier was impressed for two. Watching them all fight was something he doubted he'd ever see again in his life, and as much as the situation was dire, he wanted to remember it, lots of song material.

He jerked away at the Koshchey suddenly thrashing, some of its legs finally giving out. Geralt climbed it and repeatedly stabbed it through the melted carapace, until it stopped moving. Geralt was heaving as he found the ground again, pushing his hair away to reveal his white complexion and black eyes, veins visible from where Jaskier was standing.

One down. One to go.

He joined the trio. "Stregobor can't die until he's stripped of his immortality," he stated. ”Ciri cut him in half and he melded back together right before our eyes."

Yennefer twisted her mouth. "Perhaps with the Koshchey dead..."

"No, look," Triss said, and they all watched Ciri blast the man until he was nothing but a skeleton, and  _ muscles and flesh grew on it. _

"Jaskier."

"What?" Jaskier looked at them, but by their looks, no one had spoken. Not alive, anyway. Not the first time it happened to him. He looked around and was shocked to see now  _ dozens _ of ghosts stand behind him. They occupied the majority of the room.

The one who had spoken was Odes. She looked the same, except more solid, her eyes intent. She was closer to her remains. "You called for us and we came, Jaskier."

"I..." And suddenly he realised what he could do. He stared at the ghosts, those people butchered over centuries for their blood to be harvested like their life was otherwise worthless. So many of them now pullulated the darkness. But... There was power in numbers. He could make things right. "I suppose I did.” He looked down at his hands, took in a breath of stale air. “Will you aid me take Stregobor down?"

Odes’ expression took a dangerous edge. "We've been waiting for a long time, it's been long overdue. Let us know when you’re ready." Jaskier nodded, conscious of his action. He would channel the spiritual energy of the dead through his physical body and direct it at Stregobor in an attempt to strip him of his immortality, or of as much chaos as they could. The more, the better.

"Jaskier, who are you talking to?" Geralt asked him.

"Odes. There's a way to take him down," Jaskier said as he faced him. The sorceresses had gone back to fight alongside Ciri. "The ghosts will help."

"And how does that work exactly?" Geralt was frowning at him, probably smelling Jaskier's fear and hearing his fast heart rate. Jaskier hoped he'd put that on the fight. Jaskier took him in, covered in tar blood and still looking beautiful. 

"There's no time to explain.” He kissed him, relishing in the feel of his lips and of his hands on his hips. “I love you."

Geralt stared at him. How silly that he thought his black eyes would terrify Jaskier. "And I, you," he breathed and let go of him. Jaskier gave him a smile that was meant to be reassuring and turned to take Odes' hand, the contact chilling him to the bone.

"I'm ready. If I don't, you know…” He made a vague gesture. “Thank you for your help."

He closed his eyes and, one by one, let his mental walls crumble, opening himself completely to the ghosts.

Odes was the first to integrate him. Her mind was soft alongside his, sorrowful, but the peace didn't last long. Another ghost entered him, and another, another… They hit him like a punch, lightning coursing through his chest and along his limbs. His head was being trampled, filled with so much hurt and misery and hope and wraith and despair and longing and… Too much, too much.

Where did the pain start and ended, he couldn’t tell anymore. He clenched his teeth so he wouldn't bite on his tongue, his eyes blurring until he couldn’t see no more the ghosts disappearing in him. His bones started to crack, his skin tightening until splitting open, his orifices started bleeding, his organs pushed aside to make place for more magic, more power.

His mind couldn't withstand such amount of pain any longer and tried to escape, but with nowhere to go, it gave up, shut down. His heart stopped beating. 

With the escape of his last breath, Jaskier faded away.

In his place stood raw necrotic power. It took possession of this body’s limbs and strode forward, its goal in reach. Stregobor was spewing nonsense at it, casting spells at a body too broken to be affected by them. It grabbed him and pulled him by the neck hard enough to break it. The source of its wraith, at its mercy.

Yelling echoed behind it, but it mattered no more.

It unhinged its jaw and emptied itself into his screaming mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Jaskier will be fine!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaptainMarianna).


	6. Stop the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shouldn't be alive, was Jaskier's first thought as he woke up. The second one was, ow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entry for the Geraskier Kink Bingo "Cum slut". That completes my bingo!

He shouldn't be alive, was Jaskier's first thought as he woke up. The second one was,  _ ow _ .

The bedsheets were soft against his skin. He didn't remember what happened or how he came to be in his bed, everything was dark after he willed the ghosts to possess him. His limbs felt heavy and sore, but they were still attached to him. His head was pounding even as he laid unmoving, but he was alive. 

He was alive. 

He was in his room, he recognised his own perfume lingering in the air, mixed with… musk, leather and firewood smoke. Geralt’s scent.

He rubbed his eyes before opening them, taking a minute to adjust to the luminous room. His room was so bright, he never realised how putting a window facing East made such a difference. Against the window sat Geralt on the thick rug, meditating. Jaskier hadn't seen him do that before, but Geralt had explained he could recover that way without needing sleep. 

He could hear the buzz of the town outside; people walking in the street and dealing their business, street vendors selling their merchandise, and below all that a regular, soothing thumping, like a slow clock.

Jaskier sat up and reached for the glass of water on the bedside, downing it in one gulp. The movement stirred Geralt who automatically assessed the room for danger and relaxed when he saw him awake.

"Why aren't you in bed with me?" Jaskier quietly asked, his voice raspy and his throat raw. Yellow eyes zeroed on him and the witcher quickly made his way to his side, choosing to kneel beside the bed and lean on the mattress rather than sit on the free space beside Jaskier. A sweet scent hit Jaskier's nose.

"I didn't want to disturb your recovery." Jaskier leaned into the warm hand Geralt pressed on his cheek and took his first real breath since he woke up. 

"What happened?"

Geralt made a displeased growl at the back of his throat. "You did something very foolish, is what happened. I'm so mad at you." He left insistent kisses over his shoulder, his pulse point, his jawline, pulling Jaskier closer. He washed a sigh of relief in his hair. "I knew you were about to try and stop Stregobor, couldn’t figure out how but knew I wouldn’t like it, and then you were smelling wrong and my medallion started vibrating…"

Jaskier reached for the pendant, smoothing his thumb over the textured surface. It had to be mid-morning, for the birds outside were quite relentless. "The ghosts needed a physical form to use their chaos on Stregobor and take back what he’d stolen. There was no time to think."

Geralt hummed, giving him a pained look as he straightened and sat back on his knees. He pursed his lips, visibly uncomfortable.

“Did it work?”

“It did. The entity that overtook your body more or less pulverised Stregobor from the inside, there was barely anything left of him afterwards. It was gruesome even by my standards.”

“Then why the long face? Tell me what’s wrong, Geralt,” Jaskier prompted him.

"What it did, it wasn’t unlike what it did to you. Your body was… shredded by the spell. It killed you, Jaskier."

"Then how am I alive and in one piece? Did Triss heal me?" He was acutely aware of the way Geralt swallowed, his gaze distracted by his neck and the line of his jaw. He was so handsome in the morning light.

“Triss can heal all sorts of ailments, but she can’t reanimate the dead. Yennefer can, but your body was badly wounded, like something had crushed you from within and then escaped…” He shook his head. “I’d rather not remember how you looked. Yennefer knew a spell to bring you back to life. Meant to bind two souls together and have them share vitality, abilities… everything."

Jaskier frowned. "Are you saying..?"

Geralt nodded. "She offered to do it for my healing factor and, well, there was no time to think. I don't regret it." He brushed away Jaskier's fringe, his words slowly setting in Jaskier's mind. Jaskier gripped his wrist, finding his pulse.

"That thumping I keep hearing, it's your heart," he realised. He straightened in the bed. "So our souls are bonded together?"

"Indeed. I remember our previous conversation, about how you wished you could be with me, and so do I, but I assure you I never had something of the sort in mind. There's a way to unbind us, if you'd like once you’re completely recovered. Yennefer could—"

Jaskier stopped his out of character babbling with a kiss, leaning precariously over the edge of the bed and winding his arms around him to not fall over. Geralt was nervous, there was a sour aftertaste to his normal scent that suggested him so. How odd that he was able to intuitionally recognise his feelings. 

"You have nothing to be nervous about, love. Only with you I'd be willing to share my soul with, and everyday I'm humbled and awed you reciprocate my feelings. You saved my life, you oaf, don't you realise how amazing and good of a person you are?"

He kissed him again and again, giving him no space to reply, not that Geralt was inclined to part from his lips. He kissed him back fervently, gripped the nape of his neck and pushed back, forcing him into the pillows to get in bed with him. Jaskier's body protested at being stretched so quickly and his wince of discomfort didn’t escape the witcher.

"Just kissing," he warned Jaskier. He felt so good against him, grounding in a way that never failed to relax Jaskier.

"It's proven kisses help recover,” he protested as he kept playing with his long white hair.

"Oh yeah? And who's the scientist behind the research? You, I presume?"

Jaskier grinned and pulled him closer. "How did you know?"

It appeared Jaskier now had witcher abilities. To officialise that he was a witcher was an ongoing debate between Geralt and him, mostly to prevent Jaskier from doing perilous stunts in an attempt to discover the extent of his newfound enhancements. Magical bonding was interesting, ignoring one’s physicalities such as not having mutations or elf blood to infuse them both with each other’s abilities. Geralt could see ghosts, perhaps could do magic, and it was just a matter of time and stubbornness before Jaskier learnt about what he was able to do. 

Hence a few… incidents. Once he tried replicating the signs on a whim, and of course he could’ve started with something benign like Quen on himself, but he didn’t remember the hand gesture of any sign but of Igni, having seen Geralt do it on multiple occasions. He wanted hot soup and figured it couldn’t be that difficult to start a fire in the hearth. He wouldn’t put a lot of chaos into it, it’d be fine.

He barely managed to save his eyebrows. He didn’t turn the inn into ashes only by pure instinct, forcing the chaos back into him when the wall of fire emerged from his raised hand. The brick wall of the hearth remained covered in soot for days afterwards and Jaskier had to scrub each brick individually to clean them.

He understood now how Geralt broke his metal tools when he himself managed to unhinge a door that used to be hard to open when he pulled a bit too hard on it, the door coming with him and not staying hinged to the wall like it was supposed to. It was Geralt's turn to laugh at him that time around.

He could get overwhelmed by all the noise and the scents at times, and he'd go down in the cold chamber where it was soundproof. The scents were another matter, when he was walking in a busy street and all the corporal odours would mix with the sewerage system, and he would find himself gagging for no apparent reason. He was turning into a mouth breather, but it was the better temporary solution while he was getting used to it all. He took to also bring a vial of perfume everywhere he went, something light to soothe him and clean his nose.

He didn’t know what to expect the first time he went to Yennefer and Triss' house to begin his magical lessons. He got along with Triss wonderfully well, as she was honest with her words and Jaskier appreciated her for it. She had a snark that would show from time to time, usually when alcohol was involved.

Yennefer, however, didn't offer such easy reading of her intentions. She wasn't unkind but where Triss was gentle, she was blunt. It wasn't that she mistrusted him, he believed he'd proved himself with the recent events, and he realised it was just her personality. She’d saved his life. Whatever event had taught her to use sarcasm as a shield to hide her true self behind, Jaskier quickly started to match in equal measure. With every visit and his dedication to learn, she softened up, and so did her quips, until an amenable friendship grew between them. 

"I doubt you have as little elf blood as you think," she told him one evening where she forced him to sit for a theoric lesson he had to occupy his hands throughout to be able to focus on. He always preferred practice over theory. Triss was working at her apothecary shop so it was just the two of them sitting in the study with a multitude of books littered on her desk. "You wouldn’t have as much chaos if you only had an eight of it. Was there ever any suspicion or rumour of adultery in your family?"

Jaskier shrugged. "When is there not among nobles? My parents' marriage was arranged, I believe they learnt to love each other over the years, but my mother always was a libertine at heart, a trait I inherited from her. I suppose that would explain why my father has nothing but disdain for me."

"Perhaps. Fortunately you don't carry his hate with you. It took me a long time to let go of mine.”

“Was it before or after you met Triss?”

She smiled and sipped her glass of wine. “After. Triss saw me at my most angry and still decided to remain my friend. I wouldn’t be the same without her.”

“Well you compliment each other perfectly, I must say.”

“Opposites attract.” Jaskier nodded to that, aware of how Geralt and him were different. “To continue our previous discussion, once you know how to properly use your chaos, it will help you control your witcher senses."

"Right. I’ll take any help I can get, frankly. I need to buy more clothes because I keep ripping mine, all my favourite doublets are a lost cause. Although Geralt also has trouble recognising a ghost from a living person, I’ll admit I’m enjoying it far too much. The other day, I caught him talking to a lady in the market who claimed she had lost her child, and he was asking her questions about them, what with pretending to not be a hero and yet trying to help everyone, until I pointed him her disappearing legs."

"Neither him or that woman knew she was dead."

Jaskier nodded. "Essentially. It was an interesting conversation."

"Do you enjoy being bond to him? Geralt agreed to it before I could finish explaining the spell. He's very fond of you."

Jaskier’s neck warmed up. He knew Yennefer and Geralt used to be lovers, a long time ago, but now they were close friends. Yennefer had found her equal in Triss after the both of them flirted and danced around each other for decades, according to Geralt. It took them a perilous quest to admit their feelings. 

Them growing closer had inevitably pushed Geralt to the side, isolating him even further when he let Ciri explore this world and then other ones. He loved them enough not to be reproachful, seeking only their happiness, but Jaskier had been irritated for him when Geralt shared more of his past. He was here now, however. He was going to see to the witcher's happiness.

“I’m thankful everyday that I bought the inn and moved here. I don’t believe in destiny, but it can’t be a coincidence either that I met him here of all places. I’m not thanking Stregobor though, he can rot in hell.”

“Let’s drink to that.” There wasn’t much of a lesson after that.

Ciri was to depart today, and so Geralt had spent the previous day with her, doing father-daughter activities. It'd given Jaskier the evening to himself to compose a new song, sitting in the drawing room and scribbling notes in the waving candlelight until the early hours of the night. He hadn't been disturbed throughout his creative binge.

Most of the ghosts were gone. They were finally at peace, free from their wrath after taking revenge on their killer. A few had remained, had died in different circumstances unrelated to the cult or were humans sacrificed to the spider deity. Sibilla was one of them.

Jaskier didn't mind living with ghosts, even appreciated it at times when he got one to share their story with him. They were part of his entourage by now, but he still took upon himself to track down every invisible presence and talk with them, or have a non-verbal conversation if they didn't want or weren't capable of talking. 

His goal had been to determine whether or not they knew if they were dead, bring up the idea of leaving the Material plane if they did, or give them the news of their death if they didn't know and also propose the idea of moving on. He was grateful for Geralt who took on the task with him, as it revealed to be much more exhausting than Jaskier anticipated. He knew better than Jaskier what questions to ask and had patience where Jaskier had little to none.

Sibilla didn’t stay. Jaskier missed her but he was glad she was finally at peace and with her family. Few ghosts now remained at the inn. He could still feel some but they weren't conscious enough of their surroundings, eternally lingering in between worlds. Only one sentient ghost decided to stay, the cook. When he had discussed the matter to her, she’d replied by ignoring Jaskier and continuing to move the kettle to the stove, and then when he came back later a warm loaf of bread was waiting for him on the counter. She'd accepted his presence and wanted to remain here, a choice he wasn't unhappy about.

Figuring out what to do to pay respect to the dead was a quick affair once he thought it through. He met with the mayor of Rosemerrow and shared his discovery of the sub-basement, insisting it had been unknown to him until very recently. Any sign of the cult had already been removed, and only the skeletons remained. He wasn't a religious person, but what mattered was the intention and he wanted these people to have a decent burial, and so he arranged with the mayor to give them a public funeral. Their burials had no marker, but they would rest more easily than where they'd fallen.

The morning saw him surveying the carpenter’s work - a real one this time, Thomas Barnes, recommended by Oliver, the nearby pub’s owner. He was sculpting the posts, embellishing it as per Jaskier's instructions. He was doing a marvelous job, putting beauty where evil used to be. 

The commission was finished before midday, which was perfect timing. Jaskier left the inn to retrieve the surprise he had for Geralt and returned in the nick of time, meeting the man himself in the side yard. Geralt was brushing Roach down and petting her, murmuring something low at her, but Jaskier's new enhanced hearing caught it. "You're not used to the water and you'll have sand on you for weeks to come, but you and I, girl."

Jaskier chuckled as he joined them. "What will you be doing to have sand all over you like that?" He smiled at the duo and kissed the corner of Geralt’s mouth in greeting, his smile widening at the absolute look of adoration that crossed Geralt's face. He hid his fondness quite poorly, how Jaskier missed it before proved he was an idiot.

"One never knows what might happen," Geralt said and noticed the basket in his hands. "What are you bringing?"

"A light snack. Are you ready to go?" Jaskier fastened his load to Roach's saddle.

Geralt hummed an affirmation. He lead Roach out of the stable and deftly sat on her saddle before extending his hand to Jaskier. The latter gladly accepted his help and sat behind him, securely wrapping his arms around him. "We should arrive at the coast in the middle of the afternoon."

"Perfect." Jaskier nosed the skin of his shoulder exposed by his loose collar. For all the claims he made about the importance of fashion, he was glad Geralt didn't bother with any of it, regularly opting for a soft work shirt with the first buttons opened and fall front trousers secured in place by leather suspenders. He would dress up from time to time, hide his bulk under a waistcoat to appear less intimidating, but today wasn't that day. In fact, his shirt was even looser than usual, giving Jaskier an ample view of his chest if he peeked over his shoulder, which he shamelessly did a few times during the trip.

It wasn't his fault he was pressed against him the way he was, his hands slowly skimming down to the front of his trousers as Roach trotted out of town and onto a quaint road. They were in the middle of nowhere, no one around them but trees and wild animals. Jaskier had no qualm cupping Geralt through the fabric, a teasing touch. Geralt had him pressing harder before dislodging his hand with a small frustrated noise. "Let’s wait at the beach."

"Mm? What will you do to me over there?"

"Wait and see for yourself."

"Ooh, promises, darling."

Jaskier didn't distract him any further and kept his arms around his middle, content to lean against his shoulder and admire their surroundings. Geralt had him ride Roach a few times before, and yet his thighs were protesting by the time the air became heavier, the sea salt clinging to their hair. The sight was worth it, and he forgot all about it as the trees parted and they descended a small path to a secluded beach. Geralt had Roach stop by the fence and helped Jaskier climb down before he followed. They hitched her to a post and left her to walk the remaining short distance to the ocean.

Jaskier was entranced by the waves crashing so close to them, the tide lowering by that time of the day. Seaweed, rocks and seashells littered the wet sand; the scent hitting Jaskier's nose was melancholic, strong silt and salt. It was cold too, Jaskier fetching the blanket he brought and wrapping himself in it while Geralt set down a towel large enough for them two. 

Jaskier brought over the lunch basket and hastily took refuge in the witcher's arms, only overreacting by a smidge. Geralt pulled him closer and had his back lean against his chest. Jaskier felt safe in his arms, in the privacy provided by the large rocks hiding them from unwanted attention. There was nobody here but them.

"Is it like in your memories?" Geralt pondered, nuzzling his temple and dropping a kiss there.

"Colder, but I expected that. It smells and looks the same. I wasn't in such fine company back then, though." Jaskier extracted an arm from the blanket to stroke Geralt's forearm, his skin warm despite the chill breeze. They watched a colony of seagulls loudly squawk and fly over the sea by them, on a never-ending quest to find food. "What about you?"

"It's pretty and salty like you, so I like it too." Geralt laughed at Jaskier's harrumph. "I smell something sweet in that basket of yours and I'm hungry, shall we eat?"

"Fine." Jaskier was also hungry, so he dislodged himself from Geralt's embrace and moved to give them more space, bringing his blanket with him. The basket contained sandwiches, crudities, grapes, hard cheese with savoury biscuits and, last to emerge, a modest sized white box that Jaskier put aside without a word.

"What's that?" Geralt asked, already halfway through a sandwich.

"The sweet thing you smelled," Jaskier said as he uncorked a bottle of light mead. "It's dessert."

"The second one." Geralt smiled, unbashful, at Jaskier's unimpressed glance. They ate in quiet companionship, idly chatting until Jaskier remembered he'd meant to tell him something.

"I renamed the White Bear, I forgot to tell you."

Geralt popped a grape in his mouth, relaxed and content. "Mm, and what did you change it to?"

"The White Wolf. I'm more attuned to wolves than to bears, and a full remodel was the perfect occasion for a rebranding.” Jaskier smiled. “So I can proclaim The White Wolf is mine.”

Geralt considered him, lounging as he was on the towel, and swept aside their leftovers to push him on his back and straddle him, pining him there. Jaskier didn't protest, far from it, want pulsing in his groin. 

“He was always yours and will always be." Geralt kissed him, lightly nipping at his lips until Jaskier opened his mouth so he could explore it with broad strokes of his tongue. Fuck, was all Jaskier could think as he gripped his shoulders. Geralt was a passionate lover and always finished what he started, especially when he had a goal in mind, and this time it seemed he wanted to take Jaskier apart as fast as possible, ignoring the fact someone could walk in on them, though doubtful given both their enhanced hearing.

Geralt started undressing him with blind hands, dragging his mouth to his neck to suck bruises into. Jaskier turned his head to give him more space and tried to help, but Geralt batted his hands away with a growl and so he let him do what he pleased with a chuckle and a whine at the sharp teeth grazing his skin.

"And I'm yours, dear heart," he said, swallowing hard. Geralt managed to open his coat and shirt, his large hands splayed over his ribs as he nuzzled the thick expanse of hair, shifting to kneel between his spread legs, a noticeable bulge straining the buttons.

"You are so pretty and all for me," he hummed, worked his trousers opened and down his legs, Jaskier shivering both from the sudden cold air on his skin and the warm hands skimming up his thighs, opening them wide. Geralt paused to admire him, spread half-dressed on the towel as he was, his cock just as flushed as his cheeks. He kissed his knee and bent to kiss his hairy stomach, his arms circling his hips and broad shoulders pushing his legs further apart and then up to tilt his pelvis where he wanted it.

Neither had quarry getting fucked or fucking the other, it went with their mood. Lately Jaskier really wanted to be railed and Geralt was all too happy to oblige him.

"Let's get you ready," he smiled up at him and bent his head to kiss his hole. He licked from his tailbone to his perineum, humming in contentment, and sucked on his rim. Jaskier whined and buried his fingers in his soft hair, the sight of Geralt's head between his thighs so erotic his cock was already leaking precome on his belly. 

Geralt's clear enthusiasm was also a big turn-on, he was his first partner being so devoted to his pleasure with the stamina for it.

His tongue pushed in with ease and started giving shallow thrusts, one of the hands on his stomach shifting to palm his cock and cup his balls. He hadn't shaved that day and his short stubble was almost torture on his sensitive skin. Jaskier moaned loudly before remembering where they were and pressing his lips together, tugging on Geralt's strands instead.

"Like that, fuck you’re so good at this," he breathed hard, holding himself still but only just. Geralt shifted between plunging his tongue inward and lapping and kissing at the rim, and it was only when he felt Jaskier's limbs tremble, his core tightening, that he added in fingers. Jaskier's head smacked into the sand as he panted harshly, very close to coming. Geralt curled his fingers just so and he clenched hard on them as he peaked, spilling all over Geralt's fingers and on his own stomach.

Geralt straightened on his knees and popped his fingers in his mouth to clean them. Jaskier stretched his upper body with a satisfied hum and reached for the oil in his bag. He unfastened Geralt’s trousers and pushed them down enough to free his hard throbbing cock. He slicked him up, spending more time than necessary stroking him. He met his heated gaze with a teasing smirk and yipped when he was pushed back on the towel. Geralt guided his prick with dead precision and slid inside Jaskier's body like he belonged there. Jaskier was convinced he did. He loved the stretch of Geralt's fat cock, it filled him perfectly. He wrapped his legs securely around Geralt's waist and they shared a smile, Geralt's hands smoothing down the hair on his thighs.

Geralt leaned forward to kiss him with heat, his lips swollen and spit-slicked. He pushed Jaskier's hair from his face and rested his weight on a forearm to start moving, only for his loose hair to get in Jaskier's face. Jaskier sputtered with a laugh and swept it over his other shoulder, pressed the heels of his feet into his flexing ass to urge him faster. Geralt did go faster, using that amazing stamina of his to thrust in him at the same pace for so long that Jaskier felt like he was losing his mind with pleasure. He muffled his moans in the crook of Geralt's neck, his fingers clutching the back of his shirt.

"You feel so good," Geralt said, his voice almost lost to the waves crashing near them. He slightly moved and his cock nudged his prostate. Jaskier gave it away with a sharp cry, his toes curling as he held on Geralt tighter. Geralt kept that angle and used his weight to slam deeper, pounding into him.

Jaskier cursed and moaned, his cock very much alive by this thorough ravishing. He opened his eyes and his vision was filled by the blue sky, thick clouds slowly moving close to the sun. Geralt's hot breath was washing over his collarbone, his movements losing rhythm as pleasure was close to overwhelm him. Jaskier pressed his lips to his forehead and held him through his orgasm, his nose filled with his mixed scent of pleasure, lust and love. His most favourite combination.

Geralt relaxed on top of him and breathed a long satisfied sigh. He kissed his neck and then his mouth, so sweet and full of affection. "You're still so hard you're almost poking a hole in my stomach."

Jaskier snorted and claimed his lips again, in no hurry. He wasn't so cold anymore either, covered as he was by Geralt's broader body. His hips were starting to protest by the position, but he could ignore it for the moment. "Whatever shall we do about it?" Geralt continued with a wicked smile and pulled out, gently easing down his legs. He leaned on his side next to him, propping his head on his fist.

"Continue looking at me like that and I'll come untouched." His gaze was so heavy on him he could almost feel it, making him shiver. Geralt grinned and fisted his cock. He whined, still overcome with lust whenever he had those big calloused hands on him.

"This good?" Geralt tipped down and lightly bit his nipple, digging his teeth in the soft flesh over and over. Jaskier cursed and thrusted his hips into his tight and slick hold.

"I'm about to come already, should give you a good idea." He panted and whined at the thumb nudging the head of his cock, over and over, until pleasure became too much and he came hard, head empty for a blissful moment.

Geralt let go of his nipples and licked a hairless spot on his shoulder to remove a loose hair from his tongue, giving it a few more sloppy kisses while he gave time Jaskier to come down from his high. 

Jaskier smiled down at him and considered the mess on himself. He reached for a handkerchief in the jacket he was still more or less wearing and wiped himself down with it. Geralt licked his hand clean from Jaskier's come like it was the best meal and sat up, still completely clothed with only his cock out. He tucked himself back in, redid his buttons on his trousers and helped Jaskier dress up as well.

Surprisingly, they hadn't disturbed their picnic that much, remaining on one side of the towel as they had.

"What's the second dessert?" Geralt asked after he took a sip of the mead. Jaskier ate the last grape and reached for the small white box. He presented it to him.

"Do you remember our conversation, about you never celebrating your birthdays?"

"Mm."

"I said I had a lot of cakes to catch you up on." He indicated the box. Geralt opened it to reveal a strawberry shortcake, something light and fluffy but still sweet enough that Jaskier hoped it’d appeal to Geralt's palate. "That's the first one."

"That's…" Geralt shook his head with a grin and kissed him. "I love you."

Jaskier smiled back at him. "And I, you."

They shared the cake, and many others after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fun BTS facts about the story because I like sharing**
> 
> 💠The title is inspired by Lovecraft’s “The reanimator”. I first wanted to create a cult influenced by him until I discovered an already existing one in The Witcher universe. It’s the only one as far as I found. The Reanimator story by Lovecraft doesn’t have anything to do with ghosts, it’s actually about doctor Herbert West who invented a serum supposedly able to reanimate the dead, and that leads to an army of zombies and the narrator going completely mad, as is usually the case in Lovecraft’s stories. Some wannabe Frankenstein, if you will, only written by a misogynist bigot.
> 
> 💠The inn is based off the [Red Lion Hotel ](https://www.british-history.ac.uk/rchme/salisbury/pp107-111) in Salisbury. It previously was named the White Bear and was first built in the 14th century. 
> 
> 💠 The villain was supposed to be Vilgefortz until I rewatched the show and I was basically like “nope, Stregobor is going down!”
> 
> 💠 Ciri was in the Cyberpunk universe before coming to help. It’s funny because I wrote those scenes when the game wasn’t released yet and I haven’t watched any of the trailers, so the descriptions were all from the top of my head.
> 
> 💠 Every chapter’s title is a song and I made a [spotify playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2mCSWAXk1NFcxKRpLdnrJw?si=56GR6DVsTuSL9x7ZYtvdqA) based off them!
> 
> That’s it, that’s the story! Glad we’re still in October.. wait, what? It’s almost 2021? Happy new year! 
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaptainMarianna).


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